


Planet Terror

by Leaveitbrii, MessOfCurls



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Climbing Class, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, its porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 28,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9608615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaveitbrii/pseuds/Leaveitbrii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessOfCurls/pseuds/MessOfCurls
Summary: Working at a Drive In has its perks





	1. Chapter 1

"I can't believe you're bailing on me." 

Chris spares Josh a glance, taking in the pathetic look his best friend is wearing, bottom lip jutting out, arms folded tight across his chest and Chris considers telling Josh he's acting like a piss baby but instead he reaches out and grabs Josh's shoulder, squeezing an apology before turning back to his car. 

"At least it's not for Ashley," Josh mutters, looking a bit miffed and extra pissy.

"Sorry you don't understand the value in a hard day’s work, bro." Chris shifts his book bag off his shoulder before shuffling it into the backseat, Josh draping himself over the door with a low huff. 

"Do you even understand the value of a hard day’s work, Cochise?" Josh smirks, eyebrows furrowing.

Chris scoffs, shoving Josh lightly on the shoulder as he backs away, Josh slamming the door in turn. "Of course I do."

"You've worked there a day." 

"A day with Sam. That's pretty much a lifetime of experience," Chris retorts, watching Josh move to slouch against Chris' car, his expression dejected and tired before it's tucked away behind a knowing look.

Sam had been nice enough to get Chris a job where she worked. It was a Drive In theater called Park n Peek that was situated thirty minutes downtown, fifteen if you took the tram because traffic is always shit but Chris remembers sneaking into movies, him and Josh crammed in the trunk of Mike's SUV, passing bad beer until one of them spilled it.

Good times, except now Chris needed a job because he needed money to buy stuff, do things, plan. Plan what he doesn't know but Chris has learned not to think about shit like that and eventually everything works out.

"That's what Beth tells me." Josh grimaces. "Wouldn't know though. No way Sam is going to convince me to work for my money."

Chris glares at him, "Must be nice." 

"Don't worry, Cochise, I'll take care of you when you get fired." Josh hums, smiling widely and Chris gasps, a hand placed over his heart.

"Bro."

Josh shrugs, "Just saying. I guess I can go to that party in Milledge. Heard Anne Kirke will be there."

Chris frowns, "Who?"

"Just a girl." Josh plucks a piece of lint from his pullover before flicking it. "She's got cute tits."

"Amazing," Chris deadpans and Josh smirks. "So you wouldn't rather help your bro pick this week's Freaky Friday?" 

Josh perks up at that, eyes glinting with curiosity as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his pullover. "'s that?"

"Oh you know," Chris shrugs, aiming for casual but he just feels stiff as he leans against his car. "Just typical pick your own slasher, bring a girl to the drive in type deal. Happens every Friday after nine."

"What," Josh straightens, interested and suddenly way closer than Chris remembers him being. "You can play anything?"

Chris feels his face heat up at their proximity, swallowing down a hard ball of saliva. "U-Uh, I guess? I don't know, dude. I just started. I think it's mostly horror related. Pretty sure."

"Dude, you can't get fired now." Josh beams. "I have so much shit you can play, bro. Stuff you absolutely have to play, Cochise."

Chris wasn't sure what exactly that entailed but knowing Josh it was usually nothing good, painful memories of their first sleepover playing over Chris' mind like a scratchy record player full of holding hands just to go to the bathroom and keeping every light on in the house. Melinda Washington had not been amused but Bob had.

"Thought you wanted to go to Milledge?"

Josh waves a hand dismissively. "This is way better than that."

Chris' stomach twists up when he hears that, a weird string of warmth coiling along his spine and he finds himself smiling, reaching up to adjust his glasses.

"Sounds like a plan."

"I almost forgive you for getting a job and replacing me." Josh clasps his shoulder, thumb pushing against Chris' collarbone and he leans in close, "I'll swing by around eight."

"That's an hour early, bro."

"It's not like I have anything to do. My date bailed, remember?" Josh smirks, squeezing Chris' shoulder before letting go. If he notices the way Chris' eyes bulge he doesn't comment, just rocks on his heel, fingers coming up to comb through his hair. Josh looks at him. "Got a preference?"

Chris blinks. "Death?" 

"Dude."

"Okay, okay." Chris checks his watch. A quarter til five which is when he's due to work. He secretly thanks god for their school being so close otherwise Sam would have his ass on a spit. "They did ghosts last week so..."

"Senseless torture porn?"

Chris isn't sure how that would fly but he hasn't seen Green Inferno, definitely knows Josh has it somewhere in the depth of his house but Green Inferno is also terribly violent and Chris didn't know how that would go over with his boss. Chris fingers the driver door handle, clicking it open then closed as he thinks. He looks back to Josh, prying the door open easily.

"Tasteless torture porn instead?"

Josh bites his bottom lip, eyes rolling to the sky as he thinks, throat dipping as he swallows, shoulders pinched up. He looks back at Chris, eyes wide and he grins. 

"Yeah, dude. I got somethin' in mind."

Chris nods, "Sounds like a plan, man."

Chris climbs inside his car, slamming the door closed with a bit more force than he'd like to think about. He slots the key into the ignition, a quick rap of Josh's knuckles on glass and Chris turns towards the window, reaching down to work the gear. It rolls down rusty and ancient but the car still ran so Chris doesn't care about how long it takes him to get his windows to work.

Josh places his hands on the windowsill, shifting to the side as he leans forward, eyes absently looking past Chris, moving and blinking before they settle, softening a bit when Josh looks at Chris. Chris considers asking if his bro is okay but the last time he did, Josh waved it off, shoved a bottle in his hands and told him to either drink or leave.

"You're allowed to watch it?"

Chris frowns, "What? The movie? Duh, dude. You remember how many times we used to catch Abby Flenderson and Hank Millon making out while they were working? No one wants nachos after seven anyway. Shit’s nasty."

Josh grimaces, "Point taken. Alright, bro. I'd say I'll bring popcorn but I'll just steal some of yours with that sweet discount you got."

"I'd say discounts are for poor people only but you'd dismiss it and plus I have to leave so I can't remind you of your rich boy privilege."

"Oh, Cochise, you wound me." Josh places a hand over his heart. "Wounded."

"Get off my car, dick. If I'm late, Sam will come for me. Do you know how terrifying that idea is?" Judging from Josh's wince, Chris guesses he does.

"Alright, alright Mr. 15k a year." Josh smirks, knocking his knuckles along the window frame. "I'll see you at eight."

Chris snorts, "Alright, honey. Bring beer."

"You act as if I wouldn't." Josh remarks, clearly offended and Chris laughs, shifting gears before he eases off the clutch, Josh sulking on his way to his own car. Chris honks twice, flicking Josh off as he peels out of his parking spot, Josh standing beside his car, hand in the air, middle finger out.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the years Chris has known him, Josh has never been on time. Ever. Maybe some people would find that lack of consideration arrogant, but Chris doesn’t know anything else; has learned that, hell, that’s just Josh being Josh. With that in mind, Chris can’t help being more than a little surprised when the distant purr of an overpowered engine becomes an obnoxious rumble.

He looks up from where he’s helping Sam sort through a box of what look suspiciously like stale hot dog buns. The pair of them stand up, and Chris squints through his glasses as they peer over at the vehicle.

“Who _is_ that?” Sam asks, looking genuinely baffled.

But Chris already knows. He doesn’t need to see the driver. He glances at his watch.

8pm. Right on time, for once.

Chris barely suppresses an eyeroll, “Who do you think?”

With great wealth comes a lot of horsepower, and Josh is showing that off in spades. The annex of the Washington residence is closer to a showroom than a garage, and it seems like Josh has taken it upon himself to pick out something suitably expensive enough to provoke a reaction. No, not the soccer-mom-mobile today. Nuh-uh. Rolling up in what the pair had affectionately dubbed the ‘midlife crisis on wheels’ was just fucking typical.

With exaggerated effort, Chris walks over to the car - still running though it shows no sign of going anywhere. Only when he’s a few feet away does the engine cut out. The lightly-tinted driver’s side window rolls down and Josh is staring back at him, shit-eating grin firmly in place.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Chris asks, exasperated.

He leans against the roof only for Josh to lean out to swipe his hand away.

“Woah, woah, woah. Ixnay on the aintjob-pay.”

Chris throws his hands up defensively and takes a step back from the car. His eyes roam over the length of the vehicle before his gaze finally settles on Josh. He quirks an eyebrow. “Bringing daddy’s Bimmer to the drive in? Really?”

“Hey, fuck you,” Josh says, but there’s nothing truly malicious in his tone. He leans back in the driver’s seat; a slight, smug smile tugging at his lips. “So, how’s the ‘job’ going? Sam fire your ass yet?”

Chris doesn’t miss the implied air quotes, but lets it slide. With his new boss watching - amused and unimpressed in equal measure - he’s pretty eager for his shift to go without a hitch.

“Not yet.”

“Hm.” Josh’s smile broadens, just a touch. “Well, the night is young, Cochise.”

Something seems to occur to him and he leans over to open the glovebox. He rummages around for a moment before holding up a USB drive between his fingers.

“This is what we’re watching,” he says, waggling the drive in the air expectantly. “Torture porn, as ordered.”

"Tasteless torture porn." Chris corrects, reaching for the USB. He fights back a frown when Josh simply moves away, wiggling the drive in the air before he cuts off the engine to his Bimmer. It's a welcome silence, Josh gently nudging his door closed when he manages to climb out.

"I said I got you, bro,” Josh smirks, placing his USB in Chris' stretched out hand. 

"I'm not sure if you know what tasteless means." Chris glances past Josh to the car. "I don't even think you know what tact is."

"Aw, Cochise, don't worry. I'll let you ride it." 

Chris gestures to his car that's parked a few spots down. His car, if anything, seems to shrink back under their scrutinizing gaze. Chris deflates, Josh laughs, knuckling Chris' shoulder as he passes, arms outstretched and wide for Sam, who is staring at them, the corners of her mouth twitching upward and Chris can't tell if she's annoyed or not.

Sam boops Josh's forehead with a hot dog bun before flicking it into the trash, smile set in place when he whines.

"Why are you here? Finally taking me up on my offer to do some good in your life?"

"Haaaa, no." Josh laughs, grasping the edge of the stand as he hoist himself up on the counter, Sam's eyebrow twitching, jaw ticked to the side and Chris almost thinks she's going to say something. She doesn't but she also hits Josh again with the same bun.

"What is this even?" Josh asks, gesturing to the movie playing overhead. There's a man standing beside a lighthouse, his arm outstretched towards the empty sea, a spaceship soaring in the distance. Chris grimaces, Sam shrugs because honestly neither of them knew what it was either. It definitely wasn't Spaceballs like the film said.

Chris rounds the stand, pointedly avoiding Josh's attempts to knock him over, Sam giggling as she hoists a clear container filled with buns onto the counter beside Josh.

"Before you two decide to wreck my place of work," She glares at Josh when she says it. "Please remember to turn off the cheese maker and also set the equipment out to dry."

Chris nods, leaning against the counter as Sam grabs the bun container again. She tucks it underneath where the rollers sit, switching off different machines and lights until only the granitas and slushies are left on. Sam sighs, sending Chris an apologetic smile.

"Do you think you can handle it? I know it's only your second day." She seems guilty when she says it. 

"Yeah, Sammy, it's fine." Chris nods.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's fine." Josh parrots, earning two different sets of glares. He shrugs, smiling wordlessly and Chris wants to know what has Josh in such a good mood because he seems more obnoxious than usual which said a lot considering Josh only seemed to get quieter and quieter when he wasn't at school.

"Fuck you." Sam walks past Chris, patting his shoulder with a wary look. "Call me if you need me or if this idiot decides to burn the place down. Actually, if he's already set it on fire, don't bother. Just have him arrested."

"Geeeeeeze, Sam," Josh calls, shifting on the counter, legs folded under him as he presses his elbows into the tops of his knees, eyes too big. "Give a guy some credit, will ya? I'd only do that if I could afford to be both of your sugar daddies."

Sam lifts an eyebrow. "Can't you?"

Josh deflates, "I'm just saying that everything will be fine."

Sam looks at Chris. "Will it?"

"Yeah, Sam." Chris agrees readily. 

Sam looks between them, her eyes shifting and studying their faces, shoulders lifting with a heavy sigh and she nods, reaching up to take off her cap. "The projector isn't rocket science. I'm sure King Leer over here will figure it out. He's only here because he picked a movie, right? What is it anyway?”

“Bone Tomahawk,” Josh answers, smug. "Plus Cochise bailed on our date so I'm also here to save myself from imminent boredom."

“You could've gone to Milledge.” Chris reminds him but he's happy that Josh came here instead.

“I could do a lot of things. Like bother Sam until she agrees to marry me.”

Sam groans, "God, that's not happening. Whatever. I'm leaving. I have a lab assignment due by ten."

The pair watch Sam leave, and Chris can’t help noticing the way she glances over her shoulder one last time, as if reconsidering, before she’s finally out of sight.

“So…”

Chris’ attention returns to the brunette, whose fingers are idly carding through the empty nacho boxes stacked beside him on the counter.

“What?” Chris asks, apprehensively.

“Without boss lady around, _you’re_ in charge?”

“Yeah…?”

The corner of Josh’s mouth quirks up into a wry smile. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

Though Josh doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word he’s tossing about so casually, Chris can’t admit to exactly being the epitome of responsibility either, thanks in no small part to the brunette who’s looking back at him through a smirk.

“Bite me,” Chris replies, narrowing his eyes.

Josh’s jaw drops in mock outrage. “Verbal abuse from the staff?” he makes a show of looking around, “I wanna speak to your manager. I’m filing a complaint.”

“Har-fucking-har.”

Satisfied that his comments have had the desired effect - provoking a weary, overblown sigh from his friend - Josh leans back, palms pressed to the counter behind him, looking pleased with himself.

“Dude, get down.”

For a moment, Chris wonders whether or not he’s going to have to physically get Josh to obey, but thankfully it seems like his fears are in vain. After flicking the brim of Chris’ cap, much to the blond’s irritation, Josh lowers himself down from the counter with exaggerated effort before casually leaning back against it.

“How long till…” Josh gestures at the screen, “...whatever _this_ is finishes?”

After a little readjusting, Chris’ cap is back in place, and he humours the brunette, checking his watch. He shrugs. “A while, I guess?”

“So, you’ve got time for a beer, huh?”

Chris’ gaze flicks to the unsorted stack of boxes against the wall; to the slushie machine turning over; to the cash register. “Come on, I’ve got shit to do, man.”

“Right, right. Your ‘job’.” The air quotes are real this time, framing Josh’s unimpressed tone. “You really _are_ whipped, huh?”

The rebuttal is on the tip of Chris’ tongue, but Josh doesn’t give him a chance to speak.

“Seriously, you coming?” Josh glances over at his car - sticking out like a sore thumb amid the other less ostentatious vehicles - then back at his friend. “Or you can stay here and guard your little counter like a good boy,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Whatever.”

Chris watches Josh go, the way he strides confidently towards his car likes he's _so_ sure Chris is going to follow. He isn't though. Sam left him in charge, responsible, man of the hour while.. whatever the fuck is playing was playing and he'd do it well.

Josh whistles noisily from where he stands beside his car, propped up against hood, keys spinning on his finger, eyebrows up, face bright with an invitation and Chris huffs, turning away, his eyes glaring dark, empty holes into the flickering scene of the movie playing.


	3. Chapter 3

There had been no customers for a while, most crammed into too fogged up cars or drunk in the bathroom, seeing how far they can graffiti their dicks to the wall before falling asleep against the toilet. Chris snatches off his cap, bending its bill as he faces the weight of his decision.

Josh would say it was bound to happen, Beth would say he's a fucking idiot.

“Atta boy,” Josh calls, arms outstretched into the air, looking far too smug than Chris wants to acknowledge so he doesn't, just shoves his cap onto Josh's head and snatches Josh's car keys from hand. “Aw, Cochise. Don't cry. No one will steal the coffee maker.” 

“We don't even make coffee.” Chris grumbles, clicking unlock. The car’s lights glow briefly and Chris tries not to have heart eyes over how quickly they cut off, unlike his car, which will glow bright white until you're pretty sure your battery might be dead.

Josh lets Chris have the driver's seat as he climbs into the passenger, Chris’ cap still resting crookedly on his head. He's unusually quiet all of a sudden but Chris doesn't think about it much, running his hands along smooth, cool leather and trying to figure out how he can write ‘buried in a bimmer’ in his will without breaking the bank.

“Here ya go, bro.” Josh smirks, shifting around in a bag on the floor before handing Chris a bottle. It's sweating, beads of water collecting along glass and Chris almost grimaces at the brand but Josh didn't raise a wimp so Chris suffers silently when his best friend opens the bottle up for him.

“Bought the shittiest beer I could think of,” Josh tells him, grimacing when he takes a swig from his own bottle, his elbow knocking against Chris’. “Celebration of you becoming a man.”

“Fuck you,” Chris retorts, shifting in his seat, lazy and he manages to school his expression when he takes his first drink, watered down motor oil and amber taste and holy shit if Josh wasn't right about it being shit. “Like old times.”

“Just no one's making out in the backseat,” Josh replies, his hand accidentally brushing along Chris’ wrists but he doesn't say anything, so Chris doesn't either, shifting again in his seat as he sneaks glances at Josh.

Now that Josh has actually managed to lure Chris into the car, he seems a little less self-assured, or maybe just thoughtful, it’s difficult to tell. Beer in hand, his eyes follow the moving image on the far away screen, and something unsaid troubles his brow. But the moment passes and a second later he brightens; remembering himself. 

The scent of leather and new car smell lingers in the air, marred slightly by the faintest hint of cigar smoke - one of his dad’s few vices. That, coupled with the tang of cheap beer, has Josh reclining in his seat, shoulders pressed against the upholstery. His wry smile is back in place and it broadens when he notices the way the blond is trying valiantly to drink his beer without looking like he wants to hurl.

“Must be nice,” Josh muses.

Chris gives him a questioning look through a grimace as he swallows. “Huh?”

“Being behind the wheel of something decent for a change.”

Belatedly, Chris realises that his fingers are smoothing appreciatively along the smooth curve of the steering wheel and he corrects himself; retracting his hand to the safety of the armrest instead. His face forms the expression Josh’s jibes usually provoke - quietly unimpressed and just a little bit weary of his friend’s crap - but it only serves to fuel Josh’s smug smile.

“Dude, it’s not even your car.”

Josh waves away the comment with a dismissive hand, “Details, details.” He shifts and turns onto his side; sprawling out along the length of the seat, and his gaze trails momentarily to the ceiling while he seems to consider something. “Have you even had a girl in there?”

Chris blinks back at him, not expecting the question.

“Since when do you care?” he asks, cautiously.

“So, that’s a no.”

“Hey, I didn’t say--” Chris hates how flustered his voice sounds, but it doesn’t matter because Josh doesn’t give him much of a chance to speak.

“Really?” Josh asks, looking at Chris skeptically from under his lashes. “Ten bucks says you’re full of shit. Hell, make it fifty.”

Josh might not notice it, but somewhere along the way, he’s edged a little closer, and the subtle movement is distracting enough to leave Chris fumbling for a retort that sounds halfway decent instead of pathetic. When Chris fails to answer, Josh watches him, quietly relishing his friend’s discomfort while he traces his bottom lip with the beer bottle before taking a swig. 

“Come on, Cochise. Name one girl. Just one.” Josh licks the beer from his lips and looks at Chris expectantly. “I can wait.”

Chris wiggles in his seat, puffing air into the mouth of his beer, fingers absently tapping on his knees as he racks his brain for some sort of response. He didn't have a list, some long extraneous example of how many bases he's hit throughout the years. There might've been a noticeable girl or two but it's been longer than a few months and Chris can't exactly recall any names.

Mostly because he wasn't sober and mainly because Chris never stuck around long enough to get names.

Josh smirks, knowing, his eyes creasing in the corners, looking twelve shades more of a dick than he usually does and Chris frowns, grumpy and annoyed when it suddenly clicks together in his mind, his one name, fifty bucks in his hand by the end of the day.

“Margot Fletcher,” Chris answers, suddenly smug and smiling, unsure how exactly he forgot that night, him in the back of his car, hands fumbling with lace and cotton, Margot settled in his lap, all flushed and long, dark hair.

Josh doesn't say anything for a moment, studying Chris’ face closely, beer bottle pressed to his lips. He's unnaturally quiet, so much that Chris wants to comment on it but he doesn't, shifts awkwardly in his seat when Josh's stare only seems to get heavier and heavier, eyes clouding up with some dark thought and Josh snorts out a laugh, masking his expression behind a weak smile as he takes out his wallet, setting his bottle into a cup holder.

“What? Don't need proof?” Chris asks when Josh slaps a crisp fifty dollar bill in his hand.

“I remember her telling me about it,” Josh says, lifting off his seat as he slides his wallet back into his pocket. “We went out a few nights after I think. But seriously. Margot Fletcher let you bang her in that piece of shit mobile? That's crazy, Cochise.”

“I'm under the impression that you aren't as impressed as you said you are,” Chris notes, trying to pinpoint how Josh is talking, the way his words seem closer together, tighter.

Josh simply shrugs, lifts his bottle to his lips and swallows down a mouthful of water. It makes a hard audible noise, Chris staring at Josh as Josh stares out the windshield, lightly tapping the glass with his fingers.

“If it helps I had dorito crumbs digging in my ass the entire time,” Chris says lightly, hoping to clear away whatever thickness had suddenly filled the air and Josh barks out a laugh, eyes glittering in amusement when he turns to Chris, bottom lip tugged between his teeth. 

“That's fucking gross.”

Chris feigns offense. “So sorry not all of us can afford to use our daddy's car to pick up chicks in.”

“Oh?” Josh hums, grinning. “You think that's what I brought this car for, Cochise? Pick up girls, impress them with my thick stacks and foreign leather?”

“Shit, bro, when you say it like that.” Chris chuckles, cheeks feeling round and warm as he cracks open another bottle, setting his empty one in his cup holder.

“You seem impressed,” Josh adds on, his voice smooth and velvet. “Want to be my girl tonight?”

Chris almost chokes on his drink, Josh hitting the driver's door with a loud laugh as Chris sputters and coughs, cheeks bright red and steaming.

“O-Oh god,” Josh wheezes. “Your face.”


	4. Chapter 4

Four beers in and Chris is feeling it - kinda loose and warm - as he crosses the lot to return to Josh’s car with a large bag of popcorn in hand, but he’ll be damned if he lets on because he already knows how much shit Josh will give him for it. Any attempts he’d made to slow down the seemingly endless stream of foul-tasting beer had been shot down with unimpressed looks and eyerolls until, finally, he’d caved in and taken what was handed to him. It was easier that way.

It took a bit of fumbling, but - after searching his fuggy memory for Sam’s instructions - he finally figured out how to get Josh’s film to play, and he’s glad; not just for the sake of the movie-goers but because he doesn’t want to give his friend any more ammunition.

With the film successfully gracing the screen and the food counter devoid of customers, he opens the driver’s door and slumps down in the seat, and before he even has a chance to close the door, Josh is forcing another beer into his hand.

“Come on, really, dude? This stuff is rough as fuck.”

“Quit bitching and man up,” Josh says without a trace of sympathy, leaning back in his seat only once the blond takes a begrudging sip. “ _There_ you go.”

“Ugh…” Chris grimaces, prompting a huff of laughter from the brunette, before he turns to gesture at the screen. “Well?”

“Success!” Josh half-heartedly raises his beer bottle. “You’re a goddamn genius, Christopher.”

Chris looks at Josh curiously, a little taken aback by the way his name rolls off Josh’s tongue. Nicknames have always been the order of the day, and it leaves him wondering if it means anything more significant than the fact that Josh has had a few. Regardless, Chris shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”

“A natural what?” Josh asks, smirking.

Chris waits for the inevitable punchline for whatever smartass comment Josh is going to make, but it doesn’t come; the question trailing off into another short huff.

“Whatever, man.” Chris takes off his cap and tosses it behind him onto the backseat, and Josh gives him a disapproving look, but it’s fleeting. The blond runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to undo the damage the cap has done to it. “You wanted a film and I gave you one. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Sorry, sorry. _Thank you_ ,” Josh says, voice thick with insincerity as he leans over to grab a handful of popcorn before settling back in his seat again.

The movie plays on and Josh falls quiet, gaze returning to the screen, and he doesn’t seem to notice Chris glancing over at him. He’s been weird ever since the Margot thing came up; all peaks and troughs - one minute laughing and taking the piss out of Chris as usual, the next falling into thoughtful silence until Chris gets the conversation started again. When Chris thinks back on it, Josh has been kinda weird for a while, now - a little distant over the last few weeks. Sure, at school he’s his usual self, but outside he’s lacking… _something_.

Chris considers calling him on it, but thinks better of it. He’ll only get the same answer he always gets, anyway: “I told you, I’m fine” and a dismissive, defensive shrug.

“What? You like what you see?”

It seems like Chris has been looking over at Josh a little longer than he meant to, and the brunette’s voice jolts him out of his train of thought.

“Screw you,” Chris manages, and is both relieved and surprised by how easily a smile finds its way to his face rather than the look of embarrassment he was expecting.

Josh takes a long swig from his beer, Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of his throat as he swallows at length.

“Hah… you wish, buddy,” he mutters before raising the bottle to his lips again.

This time there’s no escaping the rosy flush coloring Chris’ cheeks. Even though Josh is still watching the movie, Chris hides his unease behind what he hopes sounds like an easygoing chuckle and makes himself busy by opening the door to get rid of some of the empty bottles littering the dash.

Chris uses the empty bag Josh kept beer in to discard the bottles, plastic stretching, a tiny rip in the upper corner and Chris just kinda hopes this thing lasts the entire trip to the trash. Josh doesn't bother to help, lazily slouched in his seat, whistling aimlessly into his empty bottle. Chris snatches it from him, depositing Josh's bottle into the trash bag with a snort, Josh staring at him, eyes wide.

“Rude,” Josh bitches.

“What's rude is how much money you spent on this shit,” Chris answers, handing Josh their final bottle. Somehow it ended up an odd amount, Chris unable to find the missing object anywhere. Josh waves a dismissive hand, his cheeks flushed, smile slow and easy.

“We can just share this. No big deal, Cochise.”

Chris’ heart flips. “Whatever you say, preach. I'm going--” A burp bubbles its way up his chest and out his mouth, Josh falling into a fit of giggles. “Trash.” Chris manages to say, staggering to his feet. He wonders how much percentage was in these nasty ass bottles but he's too lazy to search.

Chris stumbles towards a tin trash can that sits along the perimeter of the lot, sour smelling air trailing out its open lid, dark liquid seeped at the bottom and if Sam thinks he's dumping that she has another thing coming. 

Unceremoniously, Chris drops the bag into the tin’s stank, dark depths. He braces himself on it for a moment, eyes settling on the flickering projector screen panned out in front of him. There's a sound of gunfire, all blood splatter and gore and a horse's throat is slit, then a man’s, the ground running red with smears of their blood.

Chris blinks, impressed. His boy knew how to deliver. Wait, Chris wets his lips, pushing himself off the tin so he can make the walk back to Josh's ridiculous car, his mind humming loudly. It's not the first time he's referred to Josh as his anything, his best friend, his bro but for some reason the possessive string of words clings to his jaw.

Josh doesn't look at him when Chris falls back into his seat, the car rocking with the force, bottle pointed at Chris so he takes it, swallowing down two gulps and a ball of vomit that desperately wants him to fucking stop drinking garbage. Chris winces, Josh snickers, reaching for the bottle and their fingers brush and curl over one another.

“Can I have the bottle back, dude?” 

Chris drags his eyes up from where their hands are connected to Josh, his best friend’s eyes heavy and so, so dark, teeth lightly grazing along his bottom lip and Chris finds himself tracking the movement, swallowing and Josh's gaze shifts, locked onto Chris’ throat.

Chris lets go of the bottle, Josh takes another drink, staring at Chris while he does, a spark of acknowledgement or hope, something sweet that Chris kinda wants to get his teeth around. They stay like that for a moment, passing glances as screams echo on the movie screen, colorful, _tasteful_ gore and yeah, Josh did real good.

“You got something to say, bro?” Josh asks, a challenge, elbow pressing into the center console as he leans towards Chris, that usual barrier crumbling down around them, Josh too close and Chris can smell cologne on him, underneath the bitter wash of beer and buttered popcorn. 

Chris doesn't say anything, his stomach in knots and tangles, words coming and failing to form along the base of his throat and he didn't realize he was just as close to Josh as the other was to him until he feels Josh's fingers brush over his wrist.

“ _Chris_ ,” Josh presses, daring, almost a beg and it rolls through Chris’ body like electricity, bundling along his nerves and twitching his fingers. 

“Yeah?” Chris answers dumbly. 

“Get to it then, Cochise.” Josh smirks and Chris closes the little distance between them, feels the way Josh groans deep in his throat, grasping at the collar of Chris’ shirt and he yanks, lips dry as they open against Chris’. 

Chris holds Josh's elbow, curls a hand around his throat and swallows down the heat of Josh's mouth, how his tongue feels in Chris’ mouth, his skin burning up as Josh pushes back just as hard, clawing at Chris’ shirt, his stomach, the lovely interior of the Bimmer so much more congested and suffocating when all Chris wants to do is get under Josh's skin.

Eyes closed, Josh shifts against the leather, quietly lamenting the distance between them. They’re closer than ever, but it still doesn’t feel like nearly enough. But he’s not going to bitch about it, because now - right now - Chris is actually kissing him; restless and urgent, warming Josh’s veins with a satisfying heat that only fuels the ache making itself known between them.

A small sound in Chris’ throat tightens the grip of the possessive fingers keeping the blond close, exactly where Josh wants him, and Josh matches the soft moan with one of his own. And all he can think is _finally_. Fucking _finally_. Because, behind all the childish hair-pulling and playful jibes, this is all he wants. Chris was clueless - correction, _had been_ clueless - but something tells Josh they’re finally reading from the same page.

A misjudged movement causes Josh to pull away, the handbrake an inconvenient obstacle against his leg, and the unintentional slip forces a brief huff of amusement from him - a strangely self-deprecating sound - before it’s gone, replaced by the feeling of blunt nails running along a denim-clad thigh, coming to rest just shy of Chris’ knee as Josh lifts his gaze to meet his eye.

Chris' hand is still at Josh's throat, and it slips down to the brunette's shoulder as he tries to make sense of it. He wants to ask a billion questions, like why now and how long and what the actual fuck. But this isn’t the time for questions because Josh’s hands on him are stirring up all the private thoughts Chris doesn’t let himself think - the ones that have lingered at the periphery for far too long - and fuck, he doesn’t want to ruin a good thing by saying something dumb. He half expects Josh to burst out laughing and tell him how stupid he looks right now, blowing the whole thing off as a joke that’s gone a step too far. But he doesn’t. Instead, Josh leans in a little closer, bottom lip bitten between his teeth. 

“Well, _fuck_ …”

The words are little more than a murmur; soft, amused and pleasantly surprised, lacking their usual edge, as if Josh just figured something out. They accompany the slight upward curl of his lips - too hungry to be considered a smile. But Chris barely notices because all he can see are those dark eyes looking right back at him, searching his own with a heat Chris hasn't seen before, at least not aimed in his direction. Sure, he’s seen a pale imitation of it when Josh tries to get into the pants of whatever girl happens to be flavor of the week - that quietly confident and entirely too persuasive look that almost always gets Josh what he wants. But, in all the time Chris has known him, he never expected to be on the receiving end of it.

A defensive part of him almost makes a joke - defaulting to the safety of normality - but Chris can’t find the words and knows that’s only partly down to the drink. Josh’s fingers are still loosely gripping a handful of his shirt; a weight against his chest that keeps him anchored even though Chris has no intention of going anywhere. But that doesn’t matter, because Josh doesn’t give him the chance to.

Maybe Josh could have left it there - satisfied enough knowing he'd given in to an urge he’s been tiptoeing around for god knows how long - but something tells him that was never going to be an option. They can talk it out later, work out what any of this means, because it isn’t some faceless, nameless whoever satisfying the maddening itch this time. It’s the real fucking deal. With Chris looking back at him - all flushed skin and mussed up hair, only a breath away - talking is the last thing Josh wants to do. He’s spent long enough gauging Chris’ reaction to have the confidence to let this play out. Every eager inch of Chris’ body seems bent towards the heat simmering beneath Josh’s skin and clouds his thoughts, yet somehow focuses them at the same time - the blond saying so much without saying a word.

No, it’s not just wishful thinking anymore. Josh knows that now.

Feeling bold, he claims Chris’ mouth again, and his hand trails along the length of Chris’ leg, dipping greedily between his thighs.


	5. Chapter 5

Chris doesn't mean to make any sort of noise, well, he does but it's not supposed to come out as pathetic as a whimper, his pulse too loud in his ears as Josh's fingers follow the inside of his jeans, dipping along Chris’ thigh and it feels like Chris is going to melt, everything suddenly too hot and too distracting, Josh's tongue heavy and thick in his mouth.

The console clanks underneath them, Josh shifting closer, his torso bent as he holds Chris close by the collar, hand sliding up further along Chris’ thigh. 

“Move your seat back,” Josh says, voice husky and Chris feels his pants get tight, staring into Josh's flushed face, lips wet and swollen and holy shit, Chris breathes, scrambling to find the lever to his seat. It snaps back loudly, Josh's raspy chuckle filling the air and Chris only has a moment to breathe before Josh is crossing over, head bent along the roof of the car and he's settling in Chris’ lap, spine curving along Chris’ hand as Josh reaches down and pulls the seat down.

Chris falls back, gasp locked in his throat, eyes locked on the way Josh stares down at him. It's almost suffocating, the expression his best friend wears, years’ worth of pent up frustration behind tired eyes and Chris almost wants to ask just how long Josh has been waiting for this, wants to ask himself how long _he's_ been waiting for this because Josh hardly bends down before Chris is grabbing at him, their lips crushing together, all teeth and tongue, Josh panting harshly against him as he pushes his hands under Chris’ shirt, nails blunt as they run along his torso.

“Off,” Josh demands, tongue poking out of his mouth as he yanks at Chris’ shirt once, then twice, Chris complying with a startled noise when he's hardly out of the garment, elbows tangled around fabric and Josh is back on him, nipping at his chin and neck and Chris manages to toss his shirt aside and grab a handful of Josh's hair as the other sucks a hard bruise into his neck.

Okay, okay, so he's kind of into that, the momentary sting gone, Josh whimpering low in his throat when Chris pulls at his hair, pushing him up against the steering wheel. Chris has never seen Josh so easy, so pliant but he's also never seen Josh look like he's two seconds from ripping him apart.   
In a good way, Chris should note, kissing Josh a few more times, angling Josh's head up, mouthing dark bruises along his throat, his collarbone, Chris’ hand pulling a bit too hard at Josh's shirt because a soft ripping sound fills the air.

“Oops,” Chris whispers and Josh seems to think long enough to realize the neck of his shirt has been stretched way too far.

“Dude,” Josh breathes, chest heaving a bit. “What the fuck, bro?”

“You don't sound too mad about it,” Chris notes, interested in how distracted Josh is by Chris’ mouth, the way he keeps leaning forward like he wants to kiss him to the way he backs off as if debating if his shirt matters. “You can just buy another one later, rich boy.”

Josh snorts, “Funny.” 

“Still bitching?”

Josh pushes at Chris’ shoulder, easing him down on his back, Josh grasping the back of his shirt and pulling it off in one fluid motion. Chris wheezes, hands reaching up to smooth along newly exposed skin, hard and angled and Josh has always been thin but Chris has never gotten to enjoy how good his friend’s skin feels under his palms.

Josh resists the urge to reciprocate, even though his hands are itching to touch Chris' bare chest and feel him up close. Instead, he sits there, looming over the blond, snug against Chris' lap, and revels in the feeling of Chris' hands on him as they trace the contours of his body, ribs and olive skin shivering beneath lightly calloused fingers. Chris isn't exactly hesitant or overly cautious, but he's showing a little more restraint than the hard rise of denim pressing against Josh's ass lets on. But Josh knows how to change that.

He shifts in Chris' lap, a slow squirm that's far too pronounced to be anything other than deliberate, and the movement provokes an unsteady exhale that trembles between Chris' kiss-bruised lips, broadening Josh's satisfied not-quite smile. He isn't vain, but he can't help feeling pleased by the way Chris is peering up at him, paying Josh the attention he's craved for so long. Josh knows full well that he's easy enough on the eyes; it's just a fact to be acknowledged, a case of being dealt a good hand in the genetics department - one that Chris is also fortunate enough to possess, even if the blond doesn't seem to see what he's got going for him.

Yeah, it's nice to have Chris looking at him like this with hungry, half-lidded, hazy blue eyes, and Josh follows their movements, watches the way Chris' gaze rakes over him, like he's looking at something really, _really_ engrossing before he finally meets Josh's eye, hands settling on the other's hips - firm, solid and just a little bit possessive.

“Show’s over, buddy.”

Chris makes a sound - something halfway between an amused chuckle and outright indignation - and he looks like he's about to say something, a reply on the tip of his tongue. But any potential retort is smothered by the weight of bare skin against his own when Josh settles over him; suddenly not quite so smug or restrained anymore. 

Chris' mouth is at Josh's throat, trailing hungry, messy kisses along Josh's jaw before he finds his lips. And damn, if Chris isn’t just how Josh imagined him; made a little clumsy by the beer, sure, but Josh isn't complaining because, well, _fuck_ , those are Chris’ arms around him; one hand groping his ass and subtly urging Josh's hips against his own. It's Chris’ chest rising and falling beneath him; the sound of shallow breath loud in his ears, the feeling of skin on skin lighting him up from the inside. It's Chris who's moaning softly into Josh's mouth while the brunette grinds against him, achingly slow, nearly driving himself crazy with the sweet friction that's almost but not quite enough. 

It's _Chris_.

And now that it's happening, Josh can't help wondering why he waited so long.

For a moment, he's torn between wanting to slow things down - not quite knowing where the line is anymore, not wanting to scare Chris off - and the desire to seize the opportunity and do all the things he's always secretly wanted to do because who knows if he's going to get another chance. Maybe it's a one time thing, fuelled by the booze and exacerbated by close quarters and a whole mess of hormones. But if that's the case, he figures he'll give Chris - hell, give _himself_ \- something to remember. Something better than some girl and Dorito crumbs in the back of the piece of shit parked across the lot.

This isn't a practice run. All the other times - the random hookups and eager strangers - were just a warmup for this.

With that in mind, Josh arches back just enough to slip his hand between them, and palms the strained denim, feels it in stark relief against his hand before his fingers are moving of their own accord, working loose the button of Chris' jeans while the blond moans against his throat, mouthing kisses against the quickening pulse beating beneath his skin.


	6. Chapter 6

Josh's hand is warm, a bit too warm and Chris is starting to think he's just clammy everywhere, his nerves frazzled, mind a lucid fog that seems torn between drawing this out and wanting to see just how deep Josh can take him. It's a nice image, Chris thinks, his glasses fogged, hooked over the tip of his nose, Josh's neck stretched before him, dark with shades of red.

The sounds of a zipper dragging thuds along panting silence, Chris tensing up when he feels fingers dip inside his jeans, tracing over the curve of boxers, dick twitching in interest and Chris thinks he might have too many clothes on. It's a brief, fluttering thought because Josh's mouth is back on his, tongue stroking its way into Chris’ mouth, hand braced on his’ shoulder as he rolls down against Chris, the dent in his jeans brushing along Chris’ bulge.

Chris clasps the side of Josh's neck, thumb dragging along his best friend’s jaw, eyes falling closed as Josh seems to slow into a soft burning fire, rhythm sluggish and sloppy or maybe that's just Chris trying to catch up, heavily distracted by the way Josh's fingers keep trailing along the waistband of Chris’ boxers, nails dragging just enough under the spandex to keep Chris on edge, waiting, anticipating.

“Pretty sure if you don't touch my dick I'm going to die,” Chris mumbles, biting down on Josh's bottom lip and pulls, Josh humming in response, fingers twitching along Chris’ skin, halting briefly and Chris fights back an eye roll, surging up much to Josh's surprise. “Matter of life and death, bro. You're moving too slow.”

“Geez, sorry. Excuse me for being polite towards your virginal sensibilities.”

Chris considers reminding Josh that he hasn't been a virgin since sophomore year but Josh is already laughing, grasping at Chris’ shoulder, his jaw, looking torn and thoughtful so Chris kisses him again and again, holds Josh against the steering wheel and rocks his hips up just so. 

Josh gasps softly into Chris’ mouth, eyes going glossy with hunger as he pushes back, that suffocating look falling into place again and Chris tries not to smirk at how easy it is for Josh to get worked up. He takes a moment to be prideful, lets Josh take over and enjoys the way teeth scrape along his skin, how hot Josh's mouth is, how much he wants it just a bit lower.

Chris is on his back, shuffling awkwardly on the seat as Josh pushes his pants down a bit, running his thin hands along Chris’ waist, his hips. Chris swears softly when Josh slips a hand inside his boxers, cupping around Chris’ dick with possibly the most smug expression Josh has ever worn in his life.

“Happy to see me?”

“Please, don't talk. It will go away.” Josh lifts an eyebrow at him, grasps the base of Chris’ dick in his hand and squeezes, his free hand yanking the boxers down carelessly and Chris moans, head knocking against the back of his seat as Josh pumps him slowly.

“Doesn't seem to be leaving if you ask me.” 

Chris has a retort on the tip of his tongue, ready with a quip and some equally dickish remark but it all dies away when Josh flicks his wrist, fingers tightening a bit and holy shit shit shit, Josh's hand is on his dick. Argumentatively, it's old fucking news but Chris still finds himself amazed, watching through crooked, misty glasses as Josh strokes him, the corner of his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, staring down at Chris with hooded eyes, pupils dilated.

“F-Fu...c.. Shit, Josh.” Chris rocks up into Josh's hand, earning a half hearted smirk that's quickly replaced with quiet concentration, Josh folding over him, hand still wrapped around Chris’ dick but his mouth is more accessible so Chris kisses him, hard, tangling his fingers in Josh's hair as his other hand snakes down to unbutton Josh's jeans. He notices the way Josh falters a bit before he's grinding down into Chris’ hand, breathing harshly when Chris palms at the throbbing heat.

For a while it stays that way; Chris groping Josh through his clothes while Josh breathes hard and fast; moans trembling the space between them until Josh isn’t sure which of them he’s hearing anymore. But, for all his talk of needing to speed things up, Chris is sure as hell taking his time, or perhaps it’s just payback for making Chris ask for it. Maybe, but then again, it dawns on Josh that it's probably Chris' first time at this particular rodeo. Girls? Sure, whatever - been there done that. But not this, as far as Josh knows.

His mouth slips to the blond’s jaw, lingering beside Chris’ ear, and he feels Chris tense beneath him, hears his breath catch followed swiftly by a whimper as Josh nips at his earlobe, a little harder than he means to. But Chris doesn’t complain, rubbing himself eagerly through the brunette’s hand, closing his eyes as he presses his head back against the seat.

"What’re you waiting for? Permission?" Josh murmurs finally, and the words seem deafeningly loud in Chris’ ear - so hot and so close - but Josh's voice is a little too needy to be mocking; the question laced with an unsteady edge that betrays his impatience.

But it seems like that's all the prompting Chris needs. The words jolt him into action, and Josh slows long enough to let Chris free him from the hindrance of his jeans and underwear. He watches the way Chris’ face changes - fresh, thick lust clouding Chris’ eyes as he takes in the view - but it doesn't last long because Josh is already nudging insistently against his palm again as he picks up where he left off.

He leans down and kisses Chris hard, only breaking away to moan and murmur hot encouragement against Chris' ear because hey, what are friends for? And it's working because what little hesitation might've been there is gone, replaced by ardent moans in answer to firm, deliberate strokes that make Josh's blood boil and the world carrying on without them beyond the tinted windows seem so very far away.

Chris always was a fast learner.

“Jo-- shh… Mmh _fuck_ …”

Josh can’t help but feel satisfied by the way Chris barely manages to get his name out, but it's there, loud and fresh in his ears, encouraging the gentle rocking of his hips. He doesn’t call Chris on it, because it's hard for Josh to feel too smug when he's panting against the flushed skin of Chris’ neck while Chris' hand wrings needy little moans from him. But fuck it, right now Josh doesn't care because it seems like it's only spurring Chris on.


	7. Chapter 7

Everything seems sort of fuzzy - hot and loud and close and slow - and for a while, Josh loses himself to it, lets it simmer and build while his brain shuts off and gives in to that primal part that only wants to focus on Chris’ hands on him - around his dick, splayed in his hair, smoothing against his jaw - and the hard length in his own grip. 

It’s a pleasant surprise to discover that his boy’s been packing this whole time, right under his nose; an impressive handful that Josh can't bring himself to stop touching. Chris is just so fucking _hard_ , and the thought makes Josh’s fingers greedy, makes him think about all the things he'd like to do with it; about how satisfying it's going to be to make Chris come and feel him pulse in his hand, how good it would feel in his mouth, warm and smooth against his tongue, hard between his lips, something nice and big to get his mouth around...

And fuck, he's getting worked up way too quickly, but it's hard not to when Chris is restless beneath him; all hot, wet mouth and eager hands; one slowly but firmly pumping Josh's dick while he steadies himself on the brunette’s waist with the other. Yeah, right now, Josh is thankful for the slight fug of beer because he's pretty sure he'd be embarrassingly close by now without it.

The thought slows Josh’s hand until he stops altogether, releasing Chris from his grip, and Chris peers up at him with a questioning look, mixed with disappointment and a dash of hopeful expectation.

"Move up?"

It’s a question, not an order, but there’s something authoritative and persuasive about Josh’s tone.

“ _Man_ , you're bossy.”

But Chris doesn't need to be told twice, doesn’t wait for Josh’s comeback, and he obediently shuffles back on his elbows, scooching further up the seat as soon as the suggestion is made. And in that moment, Josh is glad his dad splashed out on the Seven Series because that bit of extra room is going a long way.

Josh leans over and pushes Chris’ glasses further up his nose, fixing them on straight, and Chris looks at him curiously, but Josh ignores it because he’s pretty sure Chris is going to want to see this.

Flat on his back, Chris’ breath quickens, chest rising and falling, quick and shallow beneath the hungry mouth nipping and kissing and licking his skin; stomach muscles clenching and tensing as Josh’s lips and teeth and tongue wend a path over his chest, his stomach, trailing down to-- oh _fuck_ …

He grabs Josh without realising, fingers pressing hard around the curve of Josh’s shoulder, breath catching as Josh laps at the shallow dip of Chris’ navel before his mouth’s going lower, nose brushing against the sensitive skin of Chris’ abdomen. Chris makes a sound that might be a word, but if it is, it doesn't make sense - made dumb by the sensation of Josh’s fingers around his dick, breath warm against his skin, lips agonizingly close.

The leather creaks as Josh moves, trying to negotiate the limited room, but where there’s a will there’s a way and he manages. He gives Chris the slightest upward glance and that wry smile returns, but it’s outweighed by the hunger in his eyes as he slowly wets his lips while Chris peers down at him like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“Juh... Josh…?” Chris manages between shallow breaths; surprised with just a hint of desperation.

And that's all Josh needs to hear.

Holding the blond’s gaze, Josh eases Chris between his lips, takes him in just a little, sucking at the head of his dick before slowly pulling back, lips glistening wetly with the promise of more.

Chris knows Josh is a tease, has heard it from at least a dozen girls that bathe in the afterglow of fucking Josh Washington but like most things in Chris’ small existence, he never thought he'd have to experience it. 

“You need an invitation?” Chris manages, voice strange, rustic almost, like it's been rolling around in a barrel of vinegar and Josh raises an eyebrow at him, nosing the underside of Chris’ dick, lips grazing along heated skin and Chris inhales sharply, Josh smirking in response.

“Maybe,” Josh coos, running his tongue along the head’s slit, all sugary smiles and dark eyes when Chris kneads his shoulders. “You're a big boy. Open your mouth, Cochise.”

Chris doesn't even fight it, Josh's mouth too warm and too close to his dick for any thought to be coherent or anything close. The usual obnoxious attitude seems less much than usual, Josh staring up at Chris between timid licks, a sparkle in his eye and of course Josh can't just suck his dick like anyone else. Then again, Josh wasn't anyone else.

“You talk too much, bro,” Chris murmurs, rocking his hips up a bit, the head of his dick pushing against Josh's mouth. “I've got a few ways to shut you up.”

“Oh?” Josh hums, letting Chris push the head between his lips. He sucks a bit, easing back like he needs more convincing so Chris shuffles up, using the seat as leverage to grasp at Josh's chin. Josh is compliant, almost too willing to let Chris rub his dick along the part in his lips, Chris pushing his thumb into Josh's mouth with ease.

Josh sucks on the digit, breathing harshly through his nose, Chris’ dick tucked against the corner of his mouth. He seems dazed for a moment, sucking and licking Chris’ thumb with wide strides, his hand snaking up to grasps Chris’ dick in hand, pumping lazily.

Chris tries to be patient, starve off this desperate need to get inside of Josh's mouth. They had time, his mind numbly thinks, seconds dragging like minutes but it's becoming increasingly hard to resist especially when Chris pulls at Josh's jaw and the other opens so nicely.

Chris nudges his dick against Josh's upper lip, feels the way that tongue slowly traces each slow inch of skin and Chris tries to keep his breathing level, eyes heavily watching as Josh's mouth sinks over his dick, jaw relaxed and slack, lips stretched, full and Chris runs a hand through Josh's hair, dark eyes dragging up to meet his.

“Fuck.” Chris wets his lips, shivering through a long shudder that traces his spine, momentarily overwhelmed with the feeling of Josh wrapped around him, the way his best friend swallows as he continues to take more and more of Chris into his mouth.

Josh makes it look easy and Chris can't help but wonder who Josh has practiced on and how often while he kept his feelings for Chris secret and tucked away, how often he's let some other guy shut him up just to fuck his mouth. It causes an irrational spur of jealousy, Chris’ fingers tight in Josh's hair and Josh moans, tremors of static and noise rippling through Chris’ skin like a gasp.

“How long have you thought about this, bro?” Chris asks huskily, biting down hard on his lip when Josh's tongue runs along a vein, eyes falling shut and he makes a soft noise that rattles through Chris’ body. “I bet you've beat off to it, huh? How's my dick taste, bro? Everything you wanted?”

Josh paws at Chris’ thigh, pulling off just a bit, head trapped between his lips and he sucks, Chris slouching back with a shaky breath as Josh dips down, heat spreading along Chris’ skin and it's hard to think when Josh's face is buried in his lap, nose brushing along blonde curls, hands lightly squeezing Chris’ hip and thighs.

“Holy shi-” Chris bites his knuckle, keeping back an embarrassing whimper when Josh’s eye meets his, tongue dragging along the length of Chris’ dick, mouth so wet and hot and Chris’ hips buck upwards, Josh taking it without so much of a gag.

Josh almost smiles with satisfaction, but it's difficult with Chris thrusting up between his lips, so he closes his eyes instead and moans as Chris strokes against the back of his throat, the sound muffled by unsteady breathing - Chris’ and his own.

Chris is being a little rough, probably not intentionally, but Josh has learned that he kinda likes that - knowing that the other person wants it that much, that their impatience is getting the better of them. Regardless, he presses his thumbs into the flesh of Chris’ hips and holds him in place, not because he can’t take it, but because, despite what Chris might think, Josh is the one calling the shots here. But fuck, he’d be lying if he said Chris' voice wasn’t doing terrible things to him, every gravelly word playing over and over, going straight to his dick. He’s never heard Chris use that voice before - that dark, husky tone - and Josh wants Chris to go right on talking and tell him just how he likes it, to ask more goading questions and push his buttons with more pretty words. But it seems like Chris isn't up to talking right now, too distracted by the movements of Josh’s mouth and tongue.

The truth is, Josh has been thinking about this for a long time. A _hell_ of a long time. Way too fucking long. Maybe this isn’t exactly how he’d pictured it - spilled popcorn grinding to dust in the footwell under his shoes, hunched over in the front of his dad’s car - but it doesn't matter because, after years of ‘practice’ and wishful thinking, he’s finally getting what he wants. 

Yeah, he’s been down this road a few times before. House parties, locked bathroom stalls, that time on the ninth hole at the country club. When the co-producer at the premiere of his dad’s latest feature asked him if he wanted to go out back and smoke a Cuban, he hadn’t been talking about cigars. But Josh had never really been alone through any of it. Chris had always been there in the background. A passing thought, maybe, but undeniably there, playing on Josh’s mind. 

And so, with those facts in mind, Josh answers Chris' questions not with words, but with a slow upward sweep of his tongue before he takes him in again between firm lips, pinning Chris' hips to the seat and sucking hard, cheeks hollowing, determined to take out years of pent up frustration on the blond and hell, Chris only has himself to blame.

Josh’s nose wrinkles momentarily as he forces himself a little further, lips pulled taut, and for a moment all he hears is Chris trying and failing to stifle a moan while the blond unconsciously strains against Josh's hands. 

Chris is filling him up real nice, nearly bordering on too much, but Josh always did like a challenge. It’s been a while since he's had anything close to resembling a gag reflex, so he takes Chris as deep as he can go, throat constricting expertly, eyes watering just a little while he tries to steady his breathing, moaning around Chris’ dick; a low hum that becomes a soft, rumbling purr as he relaxes into it.

“F-fuck…” Chris looks down at him, flushed and hazy-eyed, expression lost somewhere between surprise and hungry desperation as his hand slips to the base of Josh’s skull, holding the brunette firmly in place. And Josh lets him, enjoying the possessive, needy way Chris clings to him as he pushes back against Chris' hand, tucking his arm beneath him to touch himself.

Held in place, Josh zones out, just a little, breathing unsteadily through his nose while he fucks his own hand - long, lazy strokes through his fingers - all his focus on the task at hand. Chris’ grip shifts upwards into Josh’s hair, way too tight, just on the wrong side of good, and, with a wince, Josh pulls back completely, blinking up at Chris through wet lashes.

“ _Fuck_ , man.”

“Shit… m’sorry,” Chris huffs the apology through laboured breath, but he sounds more disappointed than remorseful. He reaches for Josh’s jaw, fingers brushing against Josh’s cheek, but he’s not quick enough and Josh leans back, just out of reach. “You’re a fucking tease. You know that?” 

The comment only serves to make Josh’s wet lips curl up with amusement, a wry smile blossoming on his face. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but ease the fuck up, bro. I’m not going anywhere.”

To prove the point, Josh lowers his head and licks a long path up Chris' dick with a wide, flat tongue from base to tip then pauses to murmur against Chris’ damp skin, voice laced with lingering amusement. “Just let me do my thing.”

With a contented hum, Josh goes back to work, head bobbing with a little more urgency.


	8. Chapter 8

Death. That's what this was, is, a neatly wrapped box of karma with a bow slapped on top, memories coming back that all look like beating off to dirty magazines in the bathroom, fisting through images of ladies in silk, ladies laid bare and nude and you'd think it would've taught Chris some self control but it's only managed to make him realize just how much he wants this.

It's possible that it's because Josh is too good or the way his throat constricts each time he swallows around Chris’ dick, how he sometimes will humor Chris’ shallow thrusts until his hand is back, firm and halting. It's also completely possible that Chris has maybe kind of sort of wanted this for almost as long.

Chris doesn't want to think about that.

Death. That's what this is, slow and agonizing and Chris doesn't think you can get an aneurysm from not coming, knuckle wedged between his teeth as his stomach twists and churns, achy with need and heat, eyes growing heavier and heavier the longer he watches Josh's lips stretch and curl around his length, how soft Josh's tongue is on his skin.

Chris feels Josh's shoulder bump against his thigh, hears the harsh exhale that follows when Josh stills between his legs, nostrils flared as if he's settling down and Chris thinks he's been too wrapped up in his own haze to notice that Josh's other hand is in his lap.

It causes Chris' throat to tighten, mind scrambling to create an image of Josh in his bedroom, hand wrapped around his cock as he fucks his hand, one of Chris' shirts pressed close to his nose. Chris has the real deal, right here, in front of him but he doesn't have an ideal view, hand gripping the center console tightly.

Chris wets his lips, glancing up at the fogged windshield heavily. He can barely make out the movie, soundtrack playing loudly in the air and Chris places his hand in Josh's hair, feeling a bit less nervous, a bit more like he's able to gather some control of this situation. His fingers aren't as tight this time around and he almost smirks at Josh's annoyed expression.

Chris breathes, swallowing down around knots and a fluttering head high, tucking his thumb into the corner of Josh's mouth, feels that hot swipe of tongue over his thumb before it glides along his dick. Chris straightens, elbow digging awkwardly into the chair as he guides himself out of Josh's mouth. 

The air is cold on his dick and it lands wetly on Josh's cheek, smearing saliva along skin and Chris tries to strengthen his resolve when hungry, dark eyes trace over him, Josh tilting forward to place wet kisses along the inside of Chris' thighs, tongue tracing promises into his skin.

"Let.. Lemme watch," Chris forces out, cringing at how awful he sounds.

Josh meets his gaze, teeth paused over a fresh bruise and he smirks. "Why? This isn't enough fap material for ya?"

If Chris was being honest, he'd say hell fucking no but he doesn't, words twisting up in his mouth like a knot and Josh seems to take pity on his weak soul because he consents, moving up Chris' body in a trail of sharp bites and bruising fingers and Chris grasps Josh's elbows tightly, feels how Josh's dick curves along his stomach leaving sticky, wet smears in its place. 

"How do you want me?" Josh asks, peppering Chris' neck and chin with kisses, fingers dancing along the soft skin of Chris' belly, just a few drags from Chris' dick, purposely not touching him and Chris has momentary regret because Josh is being a shit but it's dismissed quickly, Josh chuckling breathlessly in his ear when Chris squeezes his elbows.

"You've got another thirty seconds to respond, otherwise," Josh traces smaller circles into Chris' hipbone, thumbs sliding along the folds of his pelvis. "I'll just milk the soul from your body."

Not that Chris wants to argue that logic but he has a half assed plan forming in his head, one that causes him to push Josh back against the steering wheel and spread his legs wide, Josh practically sitting in his lap, hand braced on Chris' knee as he blinks owlishly. Their dicks brush, Chris hissing at the feeling and Josh smirks, shuffling forward and Chris runs his hands up Josh's bare torso then down. Josh's dick twitches, flexing a bit upward before it falls back against Chris' pelvis.

"Fifteen seconds," Josh hums distractedly, eyes tracking the way Chris' hands move over him. He bites his lip, lashes dark and heavy on his cheeks, Chris staring up at him with quiet marvel and he reaches for Josh's dick, thick fingers wrapping around it and Josh shudders, gripping Chris' knee tightly. 

Josh releases a low noise and Chris isn't sure if it was a moan or a sigh, regardless Josh slouches back, nearly knocking into the horn so Chris reaches out, holding Josh firmly upright as he fists Josh's dick. Josh shakes in his grip, clutching tightly at Chris' shoulder as he watches Chris' hand work, expression torn between want and a desperate fight for control.

Chris smirks, "Can't believe you're this worked up over me, bro. Been waiting long?"

"Fuck you," Josh hisses, meeting his gaze, eyes a smolder of conflicting feelings and Chris' heart stutters. He reaches out, claps a hand over the back of Josh's neck, pulling him forward into a hard kiss. Josh melts against him, hands splayed on Chris' torso, back arched and Chris works his hand over him, listens to the way Josh shudders and whines into his mouth.

Josh stiffens, shoving Chris flat on the seat as he rolls up, lips red and swollen, eyes so dark, so thick with years of pent up need bubbling to the surface and he plants himself in Chris' lap, dick smearing beads of come into Chris' happy trail. Chris almost bitches until Josh shifts his legs open a bit more, Chris' dick pressed up into the cleft of his ass.

Chris' jaw clicks open, reaching for Josh's hips as the other rocks down on him, a lock of air rushing from his lungs when he feels the full drag of heat, Josh smirking down at him when Chris rocks up.


	9. Chapter 9

Josh licks his lips, gently rocking back and forth in Chris' lap, just enough to make Chris' breath satisfyingly uneven. His eyes rake over the blond beneath him and Josh drinks it in, soaks up every little detail because _man_ , Chris looks good like this, better than he’d imagined. He laps up the way Chris eagerly rubs against him, raking his nails down Josh's sides, and the look in Chris’ eyes as he gazes up at him, like he's drowning in the thick scent of sex hanging heavy in the air, eyes half-lidded. Despite his own need, pulsing loud and fast in his veins, Josh can’t help feeling just a little bit smug about it.

No, he thinks. Margot Fletcher doesn't have shit on him. And that isn't just a guess, that's a guarantee.

For a moment, he's tempted to say it aloud, but thinks better of it. He doesn't want Chris thinking about a cheap substitute right now; all eyes on him, no comparisons. Instead, Josh's smirk becomes a fully-fledged grin, made hungry by the shallow rise and fall of Chris' chest and the hands gripping his hips more tightly as Josh leans forward just a touch to rub the underside of his dick against Chris’ stomach. But the smug look vanishes when Chris bends his arm and slips his hand between them, fingers wrapping around Josh's dick to stroke him in time with each teasing gyration of Josh's hips, peering up at Josh with his bottom lip clamped tightly between his teeth.

Chris’ hand lulls Josh's eyes closed, once, twice, but Josh manages to stave it off, gazing down at the blond through heavy eyes as he sits up a little taller, pressing his hand to the ceiling above them for leverage. Josh feels too warm, too hot, but it’s a pleasant kind of burn, one that makes him yearn for more than this.

And then, through the haze, Josh hears that horribly practical part of him speak up - the part that is somehow resistant to the beers they drank and doesn't give a fuck about his raging hard-on or the guy panting beneath him - that annoying voice that's frustratingly correct most of the time. Reluctantly, Josh acknowledges it.

First of all, he's still wearing too much; for what he has in mind, at least. Shirts are gone, jeans pulled down a little, but that isn't good enough anymore. So, there's that inconvenience to deal with. Secondly, and maybe more importantly, Josh isn't prepared to take this where it looks like it’s going. Not in a mentally ready sort of sense - oh no, that's just _fine_ ; his body's virtually begging him to do something about it - but in that boring, practical way, because the idea that he might end up fucking Chris in his dad's car was ridiculous right up until the moment Chris first bridged the gap between their two seats. It hadn't even crossed Josh’s mind as an actual possibility because, after knowing the guy for close on ten years without anything happening, why would it?

And so, Josh finds himself an unwilling player in a game called ‘improvise the hell out of the situation if you want to get laid.’

With one hand still pressed to the ceiling, Josh fumbles behind him and seeks out his back pocket till his fingers find the reassuring weight of his wallet, tracing its edge through the denim.

Okay, so he's fairly certain there's a rubber in there somewhere, so that base is covered. But...

Still sitting astride the blond, Josh leans across the center console, fingers groping at the catch to the glovebox. It clicks and falls open, but Josh can't see or reach the contents so, with some reluctance, he raises himself up, head brushing the ceiling, and awkwardly shifts and turns. He bends over and leans across, torso twisting as he presses one palm to the passenger seat, bridging the gap between the two seats over the handbrake to rummage through the contents of the glovebox with increasing urgency.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” Chris asks, and there's an impatient edge to his voice, bordering on needy, leather creaking as the blond shifts in his seat, and a moment later Josh feels Chris' hand on the small of his back, trailing along his waist, beckoning him back.

“Just gimme a minute…”

Eager fingers rifle through the glovebox, picking up and turning over useless item after useless item. A road map (it’s typical of his dad to have one when the car already has a state of the art satnav), a pen, a fistful of business cards from fuck knows who, an eyebrow pencil left behind by his mom or one of his sisters, maybe? And… fucking _bingo_.

It's not perfect, not ideal, hardly glamorous, but it's _something_. And Josh is glad that Beth never listens to their dad bitching about leaving the car how they find it because he’d be pretty fucked right now. Resting on his elbow, he picks apart the metal container and is met with the faint scent of cocoa butter. Sure, lip therapy this ain’t, but beggars can’t be choosers.

But that practical part of him still isn’t satisfied because basic science is a bitch. The sad truth is that Josh can’t have both. Well, technically yes, he reminds himself, but not easily. Josh has learned the hard way that latex and petroleum jelly aren’t always the best of friends.

His flustered mind somehow manages to run through the options, despite the distraction of Chris’ hand tugging at his jeans. They can go the old fashioned route - make use of a _lot_ of spit - or… Josh flushes at the thought of the alternative; all slick heat, messy skin on skin…

Josh’s breath catches, tongue trailing unconsciously along his top lip in contemplation, mind clouded by the image.

“Josh…”

It's not Sophie's Choice by any means, but right now it seems like a _big_ fucking decision. And hell, it dawns on him that it's not just his decision to make. He doesn’t know if this is something Chris even wants. Sure, Chris is still pawing at him, restless and eager in the driver’s seat, but they’re rounding the bases like there’s no tomorrow, making up for a lot of lost time.

The thought makes Josh pause, if only for a moment. He's spent less time deliberating over fucking people he barely likes or knows, so why is he hesitating at all? 

It's a big deal, whether he wants to acknowledge it or not. And that realisation has Josh feeling something he hasn’t felt for a very long time.

Nervous.


	10. Chapter 10

“Bro…?”

Chris’ voice brings him back to the here and now, and Josh remembers himself, remembers who he's with, and he'll be damned if he's going to let Chris see him falter, even for a second. The self-assured smile is back in place when he glances over his shoulder at Chris, who looks back at him with a mixture of bemused curiosity and unmistakable need, and something tells Josh that Chris is worked up enough to warm to the idea.

Josh clicks the lid shut and retrieves the condom from the folds of leather before chucking the wallet haphazardly in the glovebox. He holds them up between his fingers, tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth as Chris’ eyes widen just a fraction in response.

“...You wanna do this?” Josh asks, wry smile tugging at his lips, but his nonchalant shrug is betrayed by the lust in his eyes.

There's a yes on the tip of Chris’ tongue, one that almost rushes out as soon as Josh is done asking but he reels it back in and _fuck_ , if that wasn't a loaded question. Chris fights back a frown, puzzled and confused and maybe he wishes he didn't have to think about it, about fucking Josh in his dad’s car.

It was hard to think anyway with his lap being so full and warm, Josh's hips slowly rocking down against him, patient, waiting, the two items in his hands pressed into the curve of Chris’ stomach. The answer to Josh's question was easy, feels easy but nothing with Josh has ever been anything but.

This wasn’t Margot Fletcher or another string of girls, this was Josh, his best man, bros since the sandbox and that made this different. More personal. Chris nearly laughs at the thought, there was nothing more personal than having your dick in your best friend’s mouth.

Josh peers down at him, eyes heavy and past that oozing thick layer of confidence, Chris can see his hesitation, his nervous pause and Chris figures it's because he's known Josh for so long that he's able to recognize a mask when he sees one.

Chris wonders how his own expression is, how long he's strung this silence between them and his tongue feels so heavy in his mouth, jaw weighed down by lead and want and he does want this. He wants Josh and not just beyond this moment, this narrow barrier that they've crossed. Chris wants Josh in the morning, on the way to class, he wants him picked apart and throbbing in Chris’ hand.

Josh lifts an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah,” Chris breathes.

His reward is a smile, small and strange on Josh's face, then a kiss, hard and bruising and it runs through Chris’ body like a pool of oil, hands reaching up to grab Josh's face, his shoulders, feels the way his muscles roll and flex, skin so warm and familiar and there's a flicker in Chris’ mind, something like a click, or a switch.

Josh presses a hand into Chris’ shoulder, easing him back against the seat as Josh shuffles up, head graciously knocking into the top of the car and Chris snickers, getting a condom to the head and a chest full of a metal container that vaguely reminds Chris of Beth.

It's not a thought he focuses on, not when Josh is halfway over the console, dick bouncing comically as Josh falls into the passenger seat, legs bent, hands pushing at denim and oh, they are really, actually doing this. Chris bites his bottom lip, fingers itching to get back on Josh and it seems like Josh either knows or is actually stuck in the tangles of his jeans because it's taking him a really, really long time to get undressed.

“I have that impression on people,” Chris smirks.

Josh glares at him. “Fuck you.”

“Once his highness gets out of his royal pants we might be able to get that far. Ya know,” Chris gestures to himself. “Before you shrink my dick back to normal because I'm laughing at your inability to get your pants off.”

“ _Oh_?” The corner of Josh's lips quirk up and it makes Chris’ stomach flop with a flush of nervousness, Josh's eyes narrowed and dark, intently focused on Chris’ face as he slowly climbs back into Chris’ lap. 

Chris feels his face go hot, fingers immediately latching onto the sharp curve of Josh's hipbones, the softness of his thighs, bare and exposed and Chris sucks in a breath, smothered in warmth and skin and he didn't know clothes could make such a difference. It feels like he's melting, Josh smug and pleased above him, all lean and bone.

“Starstruck?”

Chris doesn't dignify that with a response, forcing himself up, nails digging into the soft flesh of Josh's ass as he drags him closer, a chuckle pressed into his mouth and Chris swallows it down, kissing Josh hard. Josh melts into him like putty, like liquid gold, hand curled around Chris’ neck as the other fumbles between them, grasping the tin from Chris.

Much to Josh's surprise, Chris takes it away, mouth hungry and nipping and Josh sighs against him, happy, impressed, Chris wasn't sure but he manages to get the tin open, the texture of petroleum jelly on his fingers strange and thick and Josh presses into him, back arching and Chris realizes he might be a bit out of his league.

It can't be rocket science.

“A lot of talk from a backdoor virgin.” Josh hums, running his fingers through Chris’ hair and he pulls, breath heavy, shaky.

“Give your boy a chance,” Chris retorts, coating his fingers thoroughly. 

“Yeah, _my_ boy,” Josh smiles when Chris pushes him back against the steering wheel, one hand pressed into the curve of Chris’ knee as Josh rearranges his legs and Chris tries not to gape at how open Josh is for him, legs spread, dick dark and curved along his stomach.

“Shit,” Chris breathes.

“I have that impression on people.” 

Josh smiles at Chris and raises an eyebrow, reclining against the steering wheel, settling into the space he’s made for himself as if it's the most natural arrangement in the world. Hell, he's been in less dignified positions, but maybe not in quite so public a place. The windows are tinted, but the same can't be said for the windshield. If anyone is walking past, they’re probably getting an eyeful right now, but the thought only broadens Josh’s smile and sends a thrill through him, a small shiver down his spine.

He watches Chris, takes in his reaction and follows the darting eyes that don't settle on one place for too long before they're moving on again, not out of embarrassment, but because Chris seems to want to look at everything all at once and doesn't know where to start.


	11. Chapter 11

Feeling generous and a little impatient, Josh pushes up, hand reaching for the tin. “You want me to--”

But Chris leans back, just out of reach.

“No, I… I got this,” Chris interrupts, and there's a quietly determined edge to his voice. But he hesitates, like he's waiting for Josh to say something, anticipating the inevitable cocky retort.

And he’s right. Josh's instinct is to throw another snide remark at Chris - something teasing, meant to push Chris' buttons and set his eyes rolling - but Josh bites it back, brow creasing just a touch when a memory surfaces that stills his tongue.

He's naked, sweaty, staring up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes with a sheet draped over him while he catches his breath, lost in a post-orgasmic haze. He feels the mattress shift beneath him as his bedmate gets up, already pulling on his clothes.

_“I like you better when you don't talk. It's the only time you're fucking honest.”_

Josh shrugged it off at the time, but those words stuck with him, whether he wanted them to or not; uneasily pondered in quiet moments. And it's only now that he sort of understands them and maybe why he says the shit he says at all. It’s pretty hard to admit when that line of defense has become such a part of him now, like a second skin, but the smartass comments and sarcastic jibes stop it being too serious, too _real_. Yeah, it's easier deflecting, batting away any attempts to get close, because being honest means he'd have to admit that he actually gives a shit.

But it is real. That's the problem.

So this time Josh doesn’t speak. Instead, he lets his body do the talking, shows Chris what he wants in no uncertain terms, guiding Chris' hand between his legs, thighs tensing, and Chris looks at him like he can't quite believe what he's doing. A moment later, Josh is leaning farther back to accommodate him, propping himself up on the dash with one hand, the fingers of the other digging into the door’s armrest and _fuck_ , Chris is good at taking direction; pressing against him, into him, firm and warm, one messy finger followed by another; slow and hesitant at first but then more surely as the seconds pass, encouraged by the way Josh’s breath catches in his throat.

“Didn’t think I’d be doing this tonight,” Chris murmurs finally, eyebrows quirking with amusement, but there’s no disguising the hunger in his eyes and the unsteadiness of his voice.

Josh manages a weak huff of laughter, a flash of a smile gracing his lips before it’s gone, wiped away by the sensation of Chris pushing deeper, knuckles flush with Josh’s skin, coaxing an unsteady moan. Josh closes his eyes, allows himself to enjoy it, chewing his bottom lip, brow lined with tension. Yeah, his boy’s doing good. Doing _real_ good. Nice and methodical and thorough, like Chris would ever be anything but. 

Josh goes to touch himself, feeling hot and greedy, wanting more. He lifts his arm but misjudges the movement, hand slipping and suddenly the car is filled with the sound of slow, steady thunks that open Josh’s eyes.

“Fuck, wha…” Chris looks back at Josh, wide-eyed, but his features settle, the shock quickly wearing off. 

Still getting up to speed, Josh glances over his shoulder and soon discovers the cause, catching glimpses of the windshield wipers swiping across the glass behind him.

They share a look as Josh fumbles with the switch. But, strangely, the distraction seems to have put Chris at ease after his initial uncertainty, and he edges forward in his seat, free hand stroking the length of Josh’s thigh, trailing to his hip, smoothing down to grip Josh's ass.

Josh watches Chris' face, the way his mouth hangs open just a little, eyes heavy behind clear lenses. His gaze trails down to Chris' dick, and any prior threat of Chris losing interest seems pretty far-fetched right now. 

Their eyes meet and Josh half expects Chris to look away, but he holds Josh’s gaze, the slightest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I told you, I got this.”

Despite the fingers inside him, despite Chris’ legs beneath his own, Chris is too far away for Josh’s liking. And it seems like Chris feels the same way, because he doesn’t resist when Josh tugs at his wrist, gently pulling Chris’ arm away before pushing himself up, shifting and moving to settle on Chris’ lap, knees pressed to the seat either side of the blond. Chris welcomes the move, hands smoothing down to Josh’s ass, and he lets out a shaky exhale when he feels the kiss of skin on skin, Josh’s dick hard against his own.

Without missing a beat, Josh urges Chris’ hand lower and a second later Chris gets the message. Oily fingers slide between Josh’s buttocks, eagerly picking up where Chris left off, and Josh pushes back against them with a groan. He wraps an arm around the blond, hand clasping the back of Chris’ neck as he slips the other between them, taking them both in his hand; slow strokes that close Josh’s eyes, teasing moans from them both.

“Yeah,” Josh manages through laboured breath, voice low and husky, purring the word into Chris' ear, fingers tangling in blond hair. “Yeah, you got this.”

A little encouragement goes a long way and, with a moan, Chris handles Josh more confidently, shifts his own legs apart and spreads Josh a little wider, arm wrapped around Josh's waist as he pushes deeper. And Josh can't think straight, can't think of anything beyond the heat of Chris' body pressed against him, beyond the feeling of Chris' dick rubbing against his own, or the probing fingers stroking him from the inside. He wants Chris so badly right now it’s almost painful. He wants to push Chris back against the seat and ride the rock hard length rubbing against his palm. He wants Chris to force him up against the steering wheel and make him press a few more buttons and switches. He wants to be forced onto his back, pinned down, legs thrown over Chris' shoulders while the blond goes to town on him in the backseat.

But no matter what he wants, no matter how much he wants it, he's not doing anything without--

“Where d’you put…?”

The words come out in a breathy rush and Josh glances around, peers down between them, but he can't see that rubber anywhere. And he hopes to God that Chris has got it because if he hasn’t…


	12. Chapter 12

Chris pauses, momentarily transfixed on the way Josh clenches around his fingers, how hot the inside is and Josh pushes at his shoulder, talking too low in Chris’ ear for him to be able to actually pay attention to whatever the fuck Josh is saying. 

“Bro.”

Chris makes a noise or maybe he doesn’t, preoccupied by Josh pulling away from him, smirking but nervous, a hand coming up to run through his messy hair and Chris wants nothing more than to grab it and pull, watch the way Josh shudders and moans. Chris pauses, figures he’s missing something when Josh continues to stare at him, eyes a bit larger than normal and Chris swallows hard.

“What?”

Josh snorts, “Where did you put the condom, dude?”

“The who?” Chris frowns and Josh laughs, startling and loud and Chris nearly swoons before it all clicks together in his mind. It’s easily the dumbest thing Chris has ever experienced in his life and the embarrassment seems worse than anything he’s ever experienced. Josh takes it all in stride, patting Chris’ sternum like he’s the saddest excuse of a lay. 

Chris pats his sides, disappointed when he feels nothing but skin and he searches the side of the driver’s chair. His fingers brush along the edge of plastic, Chris making a low whoop as he reaches to pinch the wrapper between his fingers. It’s during this time that Josh decides to wrap his hand around Chris’ dick, running his index finger along the slit before he begins to slowly pump. Chris’ elbow knocks into the side door, fingers stretching from where they’re buried inside Josh and Josh’s hand squeezes just right around Chris’ dick. 

“How am I supposed to grab this if you keep your hand on my dick?” Chris whines, managing to get the condom between his fingers.

“Aww, cochise.” Josh grins, eyes sparkling and there’s a challenge there. “Can’t multitask? Other boys were soooo good at it.”

That lights a fire inside of Chris, his heart spiraling into the pit of his stomach where it burns up like ash and he twists his fingers inside Josh, pressing down and curling and Josh’s smile falters and fades, a moan escaping his lips as Chris steadily fucks his fingers into him. Josh folds forward, hands coming up to brace on Chris’ shoulders, trembling and heavy and he works his hips back against Chris’ fingers, whimpering and panting.

It’s a welcome silence, if not a prideful one because nothing could shut Josh up. Still, there was an unspoken thing happening between them, a first for Chris but another number in Josh’s long string. Chris wouldn’t consider himself a jealous person but he also never considered fucking his best bro in the front seat of Bob Washington’s car. Chris didn’t want to be another number, didn’t want to be a pleasant memory Josh refers back to when he’s fucking the next guy.

Chris wants to be the next guy, the only guy.

“Fu..Fuck, Chris,” Josh breathes, head knocking into the side of Chris’ and Josh grabs at his neck and chin, mouth clumsy and sloppy as he drags Chris into a hard kiss, grinding back onto Chris’ fingers, a shaky hand coming between them to grasp at Chris’ dick, less coordinated and if Chris could give himself a handshake, he would. Instead he kisses back, needy and hungry, raking his fingers through Josh’s hair and pushes himself up onto his elbow, condom a solid weight in his hands.

Josh doesn’t protest or make any sort of noise which would raise concern if it weren’t for how clouded and dark as he scrambles back against the steering wheel, elbow knocking too hard and a loud brrp fills the air. Both of them freeze, Josh’s eyes comically wide as Chris gapes at him.

“Did you just hit the horn?” 

Josh blinks. “No?”

“You totally fucking did, bro.” Chris grins, chuckling softly. “You always this smooth?”

“Fuck you, man,” Josh retorts, running a hand over his face, a smile folded behind his palm and Chris wants to kiss it. So he does, shifting forward and grabbing Josh’s wrist with a surprising tenderness and Chris seizes up to trap that smile against his mouth, Josh sighing into the kiss, framing Chris’ face with his hands. It’s misplaced and different compared to how they’ve been fooling around for the past half hour and Chris isn’t sure where Josh stands on this spectrum because it doesn’t last long, that familiar dickish smirk is back in full force.

Josh licks his lips, spreading his legs wider as he pretty much sags down on Chris’s fingers, bottom lip tugged between his teeth and he stares up at Chris between heavy, dark lashes. “You gonna put it in or what, Cochise?”

Chris almost says what and he should be keeping tally on how fucking stupid he’s been acting since they got into this car together. He nods, dumb and quiet, clumsily pulling back just enough to try and open the condom with his teeth. The corner refuses to tear, dented by Chris’ teeth and Josh seems to grow increasingly amused by his attempts. Chris huffs, slowly removing his fingers and Josh releases a sharp breath, nails digging into the tops of Chris’ knees as he watches Chris manage to get the wrapper open. It’s dumb as hell considering Chris’ hand is slicked up with greasy lube and that managed to do what his teeth couldn’t.

Josh leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Chris’ mouth as the other rolls the condom on with shaky hands and shit, they were actually doing this. There’s a bit more coordinating that needs to be done, Josh lifting up, one hand braced on Chris’ arm as the other folds along the roof of the car. Chris grips his dick, reaching out to guide Josh down, spine aching at how tense he is. Josh seems to be more patient than Chris, flowing with the painfully slow movement Chris seems settled on keeping. 

Chris can feel the heat coming from Josh or maybe he’s delusional, confused, thinking way too much for such a simple task. Nothing with Josh was ever simple though. Chris scoots forward, feels the way Josh’s thigh trembles and breathes through the sinking tightness that envelopes the head of his dick. Josh squeezes his arm hard, releasing a soft gasp as he sinks down, face twisted up in brief discomfort before it settles into something quiet and still, eyes falling closed and Chris kisses him, a harsh breath clawing at his throat as he tries his damndest not to move.


	13. Chapter 13

Josh is a warm weight settled in Chris's lap, gathered up in his arms. His breath is shaky, mouth moving dumbly for a moment, and you'd think that blowing the guy would've prepared Josh for this, might have given him a rough idea of what he had in store for him, but it hasn't. In a daze, Josh reciprocates, lips crushing against Chris', his mouth moving lazily until he gradually returns to his senses, lips and tongue a little surer as he sinks lower, as far as he can go, before stilling once more.

He opens his eyes to the sight of Chris looking back at him, the blond seeming to struggle to find the right words; brow lined with tension, Chris' mouth making faltering shapes that look like the beginnings of a thought that tapers off to nothing. Chris looks tense and eager, a sharp contrast to the patience he's displaying, but he finally manages to speak. “…You okay?”

Josh is about to brush off the question, to bat it away with a dismissive comment, but the slightest gesture causes the words to stutter in his throat.

Chris' hand is on the small of Josh's back, pressed tightly against his skin. But the other is far gentler; shaky fingers softly trailing along Josh's cheek and jaw before they smooth back through brown hair. And the touch is too gentle, _way_ too intimate, managing to disarm Josh and put him on edge at the same time, eyes widening imperceptibly. His defenses want to kick in and keep a bit of that barrier up, instinct nearly getting the better of him. Because the sad truth is that Josh doesn't know what to do with the gesture, doesn't have a fucking clue.

His shrink always says he… how did he put it?

_‘Has a tendency to over or under-simplify situations.’_

Maybe that’s true. Maybe. Right now, he’s fucking his BFF in his dad's car - Chris inside him, buried deep, one for the bucket list, sure - but what's so complicated about that?

It's not complicated. It doesn't have to be. He's okay. This is fine. Everything's _fine_...

And so Josh's mouth trails to Chris' chin, mind fumbling for a moment before the crooked smile returns, though not quite so strong or forceful this time, but just as hungry. Because it's better this way. Keep it light and easy. Simple. Stop it from being such a big deal even though, shit, it kind of _is_ a big fucking deal.

Clasping the back of Chris' neck, Josh kisses him hard, shutting him up and silencing the question. He moves slowly at first, rising up just a touch, body adjusting to the hard length inside him, exhaling through pursed lips each time he lowers himself till he's slowly, steadily riding him; long and drawn out, body trembling with the effort. He nips Chris' lips between his teeth and presses one hand against the roof, the other firmly gripping Chris' arm, and Josh feels Chris' hand unconsciously tighten with each dip of Josh's body, every measured movement met by a moan from the blond. 

Chris leans back just enough to rest his weight on his palm, one hand bracing himself on the seat behind him, the other snaking around Josh's waist, urging him down again and again, fingers slippery and smearing along Josh's skin as they trail possessively to his ass while the brunette finds his rhythm.

“You like that?” Josh asks between ragged breaths, and Chris answers with a groan, eyes screwing shut, brow knitting together. The sounds Chris is making now differ from before - his breath escaping him in short, harsh pants, more intense, just shy of desperate - and Josh's smile broadens wolfishly, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, you like that…”

Josh has always wondered what Chris would be like; how he'd taste, how he'd feel, how he'd fuck. He's never been shy when it comes to telling Chris about his past exploits with girls, gory details and all, but the same can't be said for Chris. Sure, Josh has gleaned a little from comparing notes, but Chris has always been more private when it comes to that stuff. So it's almost strange for Josh to see this side of Chris now, peeking behind the scenes of someone he knows back to front. Like he's seeing something he _shouldn't_ see. And that idea only fuels the fire burning him up, tension wound tightly inside him like a coiled spring, driving the downward thrust of his body.

Josh picks up the pace, bracing himself on Chris' shoulder, a steady moan building in his throat as he closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to Chris', and he feels so hot, so full, so lost to it until Chris surges forward, fingers pressing into Josh's waist much harder than before, hard enough to bruise, holding him close and halting Josh with both hands.

“Wh-- whoa-- w-wait, _fuck_ …”

“Wha…?” Josh manages.

Chris buries his face in the crook of Josh’s neck, panting against hot skin, and Josh opens his eyes, brain trying to figure out what's going on for a moment until it dawns on him, the realisation raising his eyebrows with mild surprise. “Fuh… fuck, _seriously_?”

Chris' grip remains as tight as before and he doesn't speak, perhaps unable to, holding Josh as still as he can.

Part of Josh can't quite believe how worked up Chris is already and can't help feeling smug about it, a disbelieving breath of laughter escaping him. Chris was Mr fucking Endurance when it came to being blown, but now?

The thought manifests as a smirk and Josh treats himself to a wry smile, wetting his lips. “Man… I was just getting started,” he chuckles into Chris' hair, the sound made breathy and quick by circumstance. “Poor show, Cochise. Poor fucking show.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Chris mutters, breathing harshly, eyes closed. His voice is strangled and muffled by Josh's neck, and it sounds a little bit like Chris wants to die right now.

But the request only serves to increase Josh's desire to carry on, the temptation to push Chris further and pull that orgasm from him growing with each passing second, his body too hot, itching to move. But he resists. Instead, his fingers brush through Chris's hair before tugging gently at his scalp.

“You gonna come already?” he asks, amused, voice soft and goading against Chris' temple. “You know I--”

But it seems like Chris has had enough time to regain his composure and Josh doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence, teasing words cut short when Chris pulls Josh down into his lap, pushing up at the same time into constricting heat. And suddenly any pretence of smugness or superiority is gone, wiped off Josh's face in an instant like chalk from a blackboard.

The movement screws Josh's eyes shut, and when he opens them again Chris is looking at him, jaw clenched, meeting Josh's eye with a defiance that ties Josh's stomach into knots.

“ _Fuck_ …” Josh breathes the curse into the space between them, the word little more than a warm murmur against Chris' lips that becomes a groan when Chris does it again before shifting forward in his seat, forcing Josh back against the dash, the hard rim of the steering wheel pressing between Josh's shoulder blades, Chris following the movement, holding Josh steady.

But Josh doesn't feel steady right now, not with Chris looking at him like this, not while Chris is slowly but surely fucking him up against the wheel, rolling his hips, making him moan. Josh's hands scramble for leverage, arms working overtime to support his weight, and he clutches at the console, the other hand pressed to the driver’s side window, smearing condensation while Chris pushes up into him. 

And all he can do is let it happen, let himself enjoy just how fucking good it feels, hard and melting all at once, shifting enough for the changed angle to rip needy moans and stuttered curse words from him. His dick is begging to be touched, achingly hard, but he's pretty sure he can't let go of the handholds he's clasping onto.

A hard thrust knocks him into the horn again, but Josh doesn't care and it certainly doesn't stop Chris. And fuck, Josh might've just accidentally turned the high beams on, but right now, he gives literally no fucks about that.


	14. Chapter 14

Chris tries not to cringe in embarrassment each time Josh's elbow knocks into the horn or how the wipers keep skittering across the glass like loud pounding. Well, it's not that he tries. It's hard to pay attention to anything really, his hands busy, mouth busy, and Josh keeps whimpering and moaning like it's his right to be here, right now, bouncing on Chris’ dick like it could cure ailments.

Not that Chris is complaining, quite the opposite, Josh is easy to handle when he's distracted, body so hot, so _tight_ Chris thinks he may die from how he keeps getting sucked in. He wants to say something, witty, clever, something, but his tongue jumbles against his teeth, staring too long and too hard at the expanse of Josh's torso, how his thighs quiver and man, if Chris could get this displayed on his bedroom wall, he would.

Disgusting, sure. Right, definitely.

Chris grips Josh's ass tightly in his hands, hips snapping up and Josh fumbles forward, forehead knocking into Chris’, nothing but incoherent words and panting escaping his lips, eyes falling shut as Chris continues to work him downwards.

Margot Fletcher ain't got nothin’ on me, is what Chris would say, if he could, if he wasn't trying his fucking hardest not to come and that's all his thoughts seem to be. Don't come. Don't come. There was something charming in this situation he's found himself in, something sweet in the way Josh tries not to cling to him like he's fighting something and Chris thinks he might know what it is.

Chris grasps a handful of Josh's hair, tugging a bit too hard but Josh moans loudly, clawing lightly at Chris’ shoulder, hips stuttering as Chris clamps his other hand down, holding Josh still. Chris isn't expecting Josh to whine, but he does, borderline pathetic and needy and Chris exhales sharply through his nose, nipping lightly at the underside of Josh's chin, his throat, slowly rocking up into Josh, trying to bury himself so deep that Josh won't ever not think about him when he's with anyone else.

“G-Good thing I wore a con..condom.” Chris murmurs, sucking a hard bruise into Josh's neck. “Wouldn't want you to get pregnant.”

“O-Oh.. f-fu.. fuck you, man,” Josh grinds out, pulling at Chris’ hair until they're face to face, Josh struggling to move, Chris’ hand a vice in his hip. “Fuck you.”

“Doin’ that, bro,” Chris quips, lips twitching up into a smirk and something in Josh's face shifts, something Chris can't decipher but before he can over think it, Josh's mouth is on his, biting and hard and Chris gasps into it, pulling Josh impossibly closer. 

Chris isn't sure how to define these intimate moments, hasn't bothered to count how many they've had but they're there, blatant and obvious and Chris thinks Josh might be thinking the same thing he is and refuses to acknowledge it. Whatever. Chris has always been good at getting under Josh's skin. This was no exception.

Chris pulls back, Josh scrambling to hold himself upright and he looks startled, eyes wide and unblinking. Josh doesn't say when Chris stretches back on the seat or when Chris thrusts up hard into him, just settles his hands on Chris’ chest, looking uncomfortable and red, maybe pissy if Chris is being true to himself. He can feel Josh trying to move, turn this over in his favor but Chris isn't some low level fuck boy who's going to let Josh Washington run all over him.

Josh seems to get that, brows furrowing, mouth falling open to protest or maybe coax some more deep rooted feelings out of Chris’ chest but Chris doesn't give him the opportunity, dragging Josh forward with his hands before pushing him back. Josh gasps, that heavy look creeping back into his face as Chris rolls up into him.

It's a new angle, a prettier one, Josh straddled over him, letting himself be rocked and handled and Chris has to breathe through most of it, his dick buried deep inside, every hot crevice of Josh's insides hugging him to the balls. 

“You look good like this, preach,” Chris tells him, licking his lips. “Like you just want my cock to split you open.”

Josh glares weakly at him, trying to remain upright but Chris keeps nudging his dick deep inside him. Chris runs his hand along Josh's bare chest, pinching and rolling tiny, dark nipples between his fingers and Josh flushes, an embarrassing noise escaping his throat.

“Don't hold back on my account.”

“B-big words for a--” Josh just about manages to say, shaky and unconvincing, before his eyes screw shut, words cut short. He fumbles to add more to the comment, but it's hard to be his usual eloquent self with Chris' hands on him, body so hot and full, and the sentence trails off to nothing, Josh cursing as the blond coaxes another moan from him.

Josh wonders how the hell he lost control so quickly, so easily, the question foggy yet definite among the many thoughts clouding his head. Maybe it was Chris forcing him up against the dash, wearing an expression Josh had never seen before. Perhaps it was the blond's voice, so husky in Josh's ear, dark and teasing. Maybe. But they were just pit stops on the way to this new place, gouging chunks out of his armor, wearing him down.

No, Josh knows exactly when he lost control. It was around the same time Chris put him in this position, taking away his leverage with firm hands and rolling hips. Josh isn't exactly graceful right now - awkwardly placed limbs in sharp contrast to the triumph of German engineering they're currently ruining - and though every movement has him panting and moaning, he can't help feeling frustrated by it.

He likes being in control. With girls, he's all about that - work them up, get them wet, everything on his terms. So it wasn't supposed to go like this; Josh almost scowling through his hazy look like a petulant child while Chris smiles back at him, face marked by hunger and a smugness that picks at Josh's insides like a bad itch.

Chris guides Josh's body, calling the shots for now, though Josh is loathed to acknowledge it. And it's hard for Josh to fight back the sounds perched in his throat, dying to make their way out of his mouth, or to steady his body and mute the quiet tremble buzzing beneath his skin. There's so much fight in Chris, a hard edge that Josh hadn't expected, one that leaves him feeling weak in the best possible way, working its way under Josh's skin and into his veins.

He can't win like this, not easily, and it looks like Chris knows that all too well as he runs his hands over Josh's chest. Josh underestimated him, let his expectations of how he thought this would go cloud his judgement and leave him unprepared, make him too confident, but there's not much he can do about that now.

Josh hates this. So much. But, more than that, he hates himself for just how much he doesn't want Chris to stop.

Hindsight is a bitch.

Chris runs his hand along Josh's thigh before it returns to Josh's hip, reluctant to relinquish his grip for too long, and Chris rocks up into Josh and shifts the brunette in his lap, grinding Josh down against him.

And Josh can't stop himself from making the pitiful sounds he's trying to bite back. It just feels so _good_ , Chris rubbing up inside him just right. Josh thinks he should be living in the moment, enjoying himself, but all he can register is the challenge in Chris' eyes, bright and unspoken behind clear lenses.

Josh hates this. The frustration, feeling like he's losing. But then, maybe… maybe he doesn't have to lose.

If you can't beat them… 

...Join them?

Josh shudders and meets Chris' eye, clenching his jaw and stuttering out more curses when the blond pulls him forward.

No. If you can't beat them, you _change the game._

Josh's face hardens at the edges, decision made, before it softens a little too easily, apparently giving up the fight because he's not playing that game anymore. But it's not surrender, because you can't lose when you're not playing by the same rules.

It's not about getting Chris off anymore, not about who can fight it off the longest and make the other cave in. Josh is playing a selfish game now, one that he can win more easily, and if Chris wants to break him down then he's going to be sadly disappointed because Josh has always been a little self-destructive and now is no exception.

Josh doesn't know if this is going to be the first time, the last time, the only time. A mistake that Chris looks back on and the pair don't acknowledge or talk about, something Chris might regret. But Josh has him now, right now. So he sure as hell isn't going to overthink it anymore. He’s going to get what he wants with or without Chris' help. And right now, all he wants - all he can think about - is getting off.

Josh's hand trails down his stomach to his dick, succumbing to his own touch, and it only fuels him, has him grinding hard against Chris' thrusts, heavy in Chris' lap. He embraces the rocking motion, moving eagerly in time with Chris' hands, so pliable and obliging, letting Chris do what he wants.

_Letting him_ , Josh reminds himself. Because this is Josh's decision, what _he_ wants, and if Chris happens to enjoy it then fuck it, who is Josh to stop him?

Josh tells himself that he's not being submissive, that Chris hasn't been able to push him that far. And it doesn't matter how this goes because even though he's not Chris' first fuck, he's Chris' first _something_. Everything else is just a footnote.

He's okay. This is fine…

Chris' words return to him, loud and challenging.

Don't hold back?

“S-show me what you got.” Josh pushes back against Chris. His voice isn't mocking or hard, no real challenge there, bordering on inviting. There's no derisive snort or conceited smile marring his features this time as he fucks his own hand, revelling in the feeling, getting himself that bit closer. And he almost looks disarmed, _almost_ , but it's because he wants it that way. “I ca-- I can take it.”

Josh closes his eyes, brow lined with tension as he works himself greedily through his fingers, knowing his own body well enough to work himself up. He stops thinking, lets the internal struggle fall by the wayside for now while he concentrates on the tension marking every inch of him; the hands on his hips, Chris deep inside him. But it's not a case of Josh switching off, no.

He’s switching _on._


	15. Chapter 15

Chris is momentarily glad that onsite nosebleeds aren't a thing, otherwise, he could image thin red trails sliding down his nostrils, heart twisted into hard knots as he stares up at Josh, so terribly wrapped inside his own mind and Chris can practically see when Josh has decided that he's done.

Done with what, Chris isn't sure, but he's distracted by the way Josh times his thrusts with Chris’, hand steadily pumping away and Chris isn't sure if you can make someone come by just a dick alone but he's always wanted to try.

Josh isn't expecting it, a flash of confusion marring his face when Chris takes his wrist in hand, hips snapping up hard and Josh's mouth falls open, eyelids drooping heavily, lashes framed along his cheeks and Chris manages a grin, pushing himself up, Josh's wrists tight in his hand. 

“Maaaan.” Josh grips Chris’ shoulder tightly, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Yeah,” Chris agrees, stalling a bit, breathing heavily through flared nostrils. “Yeah, yeah.”

Josh groans, “Seriously?”

“So serious, bro,” Chris answers, nudging Josh's head with his nose and Josh looks at him, confused and pissy and honestly, it's a good look. Josh's cheeks are red, lips swollen and dry, hair messy. It makes Chris’ lungs squeeze, chest so tight he thinks something might pop out and he wants, wants, wants. 

Chris stares longer than he intended, Josh shrinking back as if he can see what thoughts cross Chris’ mind. It's an unusual gesture, seeing Josh back away from something, hesitant and insecure and Chris feels it all click together in his mind, this moment, the impossible heat wrapped over him, Josh's skin beneath his hands.

“Chris..”

Chris kisses him, hard, Josh's hands immediately in his hair, mouth compliant and fucking _easy_. It's all hurried movements, gestures, tongues meeting and sliding, Josh's mouth like coated poison against Chris’ and Chris has to pull back before Josh can reel him in again.

His reward is a smirk, sly and knowing and Chris doesn't know how to turn this into something serious, something they need to talk about afterwards. Maybe Josh didn't want to talk, maybe this is just an itch that Josh was finally able to scratch and that burns up Chris’ insides.

“‘s wrong, bro?” Josh asks, eyes lit up and he fucking knows but refuses to acknowledge it. “You gonna move sometime soon, Cochise?” 

Chris doesn't say anything, ground up by the fire spreading along his spine and he might've been too rough when he pushes Josh back against the steering wheel, might've bitten down too hard on Josh's collarbone and throat and Chris thinks he's lost some of whatever control he had.

Josh moans in his ear, clawing at Chris’ shoulder, his back, whimpering softly when Chris starts to thrust back up, hips loose in Chris’ grasp but Josh doesn't make any effort to move, lets Chris fuck hard into him, trembling and panting, their foreheads pressed together, lips brushing and Chris isn't expecting Josh to close the distance between them but he does.

Chris kisses back, desperate and achy, reaching up to grasp Josh's chin. The horn sounds behind them, startling and loud and Josh clamps around him, so, so tight and Chris has to grasp Josh's thighs to will himself from coming. It wasn't the time.

Chris flushes, embarrassed and Josh laughs, raspy but it rings through Chris’ mind like a twinkling bell. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Josh braces himself on Chris’ knees, lifting up shakily before sinking back down and Chris inhales sharply, watching how his dick disappears inside Josh, how slow and steady the movements are and for a moment, it's too much.

“Take a picture. It'll last longer.” Josh can barely manage a smirk, more like a wobbly smile and Chris takes it in stride, sitting back on his hand and he reaches out to wrap his fingers around the base of Josh's dick, pressing his thumb against the head and that smile falls away, Josh's hips stalling.

“Keep going, bro,” Chris encourages, fighting back a grin. 

Despite Chris' encouragement, Josh hesitates, eyes widening a touch, distracted by Chris' hand around him. He takes a moment to try to read Chris' face and gauge what this is, what Chris _really_ means. It doesn't feel like Chris is mocking him. He can see how tightly wound Chris is - tension clinging to his edges, lurking just beneath his skin - and Josh feels Chris' fingers squeezing a little more firmly around his dick while the blond waits, wetting his lips with anticipation.

Reassured, Josh lowers himself again, slow and deliberate, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth like he's concentrating _real_ hard on what he's doing, and his chest tightens, hard and suffocating, when Chris' breath catches, the sound seeming deafeningly loud.

Josh carries on, tension worrying his brow every time he sinks down into Chris' lap; controlled and even. But he can't disguise his shaking breath or the way his legs tremble with the effort. 

Chris watches him, chewing his lip while he nods encouragement - small, slight movements, but they're definitely there - shamelessly staring like he's unable to help himself. “Keep _unh--_ yeah… keep going...”

This feels easier, now Josh has come to terms with it. A little cooperation. Not fighting something, not trying to prove something. Josh obliges, keeping that same steady pace, and is rewarded with a few brief strokes through Chris' fingers, Josh gasping at the sudden friction, before Chris' hand stills again. 

“Fuck... _man_ ,” Chris murmurs, eyes still drawn to the movements of Josh's hips, watching the way Josh’s body swallows him whole without a hint of hesitation. 

“I.. I know, right?” Josh breathes, managing to muster up a conspiratorial smile, like they're sharing a private joke, and Chris huffs amusement, breathy and genuine, the sound causing a wave of heat to flare up inside Josh, spreading from head to toe.

Josh looks down between them but he can't see much beyond his own dick, its glistening head peeking out from Chris' fist, and for a moment, Josh is jealous of Chris' view. He wants to watch Chris fuck him, to savour every filthy detail, but the thought dies when Josh lifts his head.

Chris' gaze is trained between Josh's thighs, like he might be hypnotised by the way their bodies meet. There's a hazy, distracted look in his eyes and his skin is flushed with patches of colour. Chris is battle-scarred and roughed up in just the right way; bitten lips; hair well and truly fucked; glasses still somehow vaguely in place, if a little askew. The blond isn't coming undone exactly, but something seems to be working its way loose, like a layer of normality has been peeled back, exposing something hot and primal and _real._

Josh watches the rise and fall of Chris' chest, eyes roaming over the contours of Chris' torso, drinking it in and etching the sight on his memory like it's something he could ever forget. He wants to touch Chris all over; to run his hands and mouth over every hot, hard inch until Chris melts down to nothing. He wants all of it at once, tight in his grip, all his. Now, tomorrow, the day after that. _His_. Because everything Josh imagined - those secret, dirty, unrequited thoughts - pales in comparison to how Chris looks right now.

Resting his weight on one arm, Josh reaches out with the other, giving in to an overwhelming urge, a strong compulsion he can’t deny. Chris backs away at first, not expecting the movement, unsure of Josh's intentions until Josh pushes Chris' glasses up into his hair, fingers clumsy but they do the job, and it’s almost like Josh is looking at someone he rarely sees; familiar but different. Someone secret. 

It takes a moment for Chris' eyes to focus as Josh slows, movements smooth and thick like syrup. And maybe Chris’ unobstructed gaze is too much, blue eyes blinking back at him, meeting his own, _seeing_ Josh, because a feeling cuts through the fog, tying Josh's stomach into knots.

It's a weird feeling; something Josh wants to grab onto and get the fuck away from at the same time; an impossible mixture of desire and dread that he can't quite fathom.

And fuck… okay… so they’re having some sort of moment. Something’s happening and Josh doesn’t know what to do about it. They're both thinking _something_ ; Josh can sense it, unspoken but tangible in the air. Something Josh doesn't want to think about. Something he's… something he's _afraid_ to think about?

Chris’ eyes on him are definitely too much right now. It's like someone's shining a flashlight in Josh's face, like he's staring at the sun - wincingly bright. It feels like Josh might want to say something, like he _should_ say something, but he can't figure out what.

He told himself he wouldn't overthink it. He'd already decided. So why can't he just stop fucking thinking for once?

Josh doesn't try to fill the lull with empty, clever words, but he doesn't push Chris away either. Instead, Josh finds a compromise and looks away, unable to hold Chris' gaze for too long. He throws his head back, eyes closed, facing the roof, the skin of his neck flushed and taut while he lets his body do the talking; lowering himself in a slow, steady rhythm, panting, blunt fingernails digging into Chris' knees.

A moment later, Josh feels Chris' hand on his skin, stroking its way up Josh's chest, smoothing along the length of his neck. Josh pushes back against it, feels Chris' thumb digging into the hollow of his throat, hard against his pulse, and in that moment Josh kind of wants Chris to wrap his fingers around his throat and squeeze. Because that's what this feels like right now; a suffocating heat that has Josh gasping for air.

Yeah… this is better. Talking seems overrated right now. Too difficult. Too messy. A little beyond Josh's reach.

Josh grits his teeth, mouth clamped shut, breathing harshly through his nose, and it’s a case of careful what you wish for because Chris still isn’t helping him out. Chris' hand is warm and tight around Josh's dick. But Chris is just holding him, occasionally treating him to a few quick strokes or a slow swipe of his thumb over the head before it stills again, keeping his hand there like it’s off limits. But Josh isn't going to fight Chris on this and give the blond the satisfaction of trying to prize back Chris’ fingers. It doesn’t matter anyway, because Josh is getting there without it.

Chris seems to read his thoughts, spreading Josh's legs wider, and Josh groans and arches his back, shifting his arms and adjusting his weight, searching, until he finally finds the angle he’s looking for, jaw dropping, acknowledging it with a loud, harsh moan.

He’s feeling it; deep in the pit of his stomach, a dull, tight ache edging its way up his spine, pooling in his veins, filling him up. And he thinks he must be tensing a little too much, because Chris’ face changes and the blond exhales loudly through his teeth.

“ _Fuck_ …” Josh breathes, voice loose and uneven as he picks up the pace, “Fuck... fuuck… _f-fuck_ …” and the word is tethered to his throat where it becomes a mantra that escapes him again and again with each downward thrust of his body, like he feels the need to narrate what he's doing; an unconscious thought that rolls off his tongue so easily, filling the close air between them with increasing urgency.


	16. Chapter 16

His mouth is dry, mind lost in a hazy place where rational thought doesn't exist anymore, but Josh suspects he hasn't been thinking rationally for a while. He knows he looks like a fucking mess right now. There's no question about it. But Josh is starting to learn that it feels better when you embrace not giving a shit.

Chris lets go of Josh's cock, leaves it hard and untended between them when he grabs the brunette’s waist, thumbs digging into Josh's hips, gripping his flesh. Josh can feel Chris fighting back the urge to thrust up into him, how strained he is, thighs tensing beneath his own. But Josh doesn't seize the opportunity to touch himself because he's got what he needs right here.

Almost.

“Fu-- fuh…”

Maybe some other time he'd bite it back. It's not that Josh doesn't want to say it - his lingering initial reluctance gone - but he can't get his words out, his grasp of basic English failing him miserably, tenuous at best.

He forces himself to look Chris in the eye, to meet his gaze, and it's like a punch to the gut, a hard fist in Josh's chest squeezing around his stuttering heart like a vice.

Somehow, Josh finds his voice.

“Fff… F-fuckme...”

It's not an order, not quite a question, either. Perhaps just something said in the heat of the moment that he can shrug off if Chris calls him on it. Almost like a serving suggestion, he thinks, and a breath of something close to but not quite laughter escapes him at the thought.

And through the desperate look marring his features, Josh manages to quirk his eyebrows and give Chris a cursory flash of a smile - weak and self-deprecating, acknowledging how pathetic he must look right now - before it’s gone, giving way to that same lost expression as he continues to slide along the length of Chris' dick, too worked up to stop himself.

But he’s not begging. No, Josh Washington doesn't beg. He’s simply _asking._

Josh moves his shoulders, nearly a shrug, still feigning an air of nonchalance despite it all. Chris looks back at him, mouth hanging open, two parts aroused and one part confused, because if there's one thing he's definitely doing right now, it's fucking Josh. But when Josh grabs Chris' wrist, gripping it urgently, Chris seems to understand.

“ _Fuck_ , man. Just…” Josh swallows down the ‘please’ that's stuck in his throat as his fingers dig into the flesh of Chris' arm.

"What, Josh?" Chris asks, knowing exactly what it is Josh wants and maybe it's the fact that Chris has been watching Josh fuck himself on his dick that he doesn't want this to end too soon, or it could be that he's not used to the sudden confidence that came with watching.

It could be both, Chris is sure, holding back a moan when Josh squeezes his arm, balls flush against the other's ass and Josh huffs, biting down hard on his lip. Chris reaches for him, grasping the soft flesh of Josh's ass and cants up hard, a moan escaping Josh's lips as his head falls back.

"Come on, bro." Chris urges, pressing up close into Josh's space, and he feels the way Josh can't stop shaking, so whiney and needy but still fucking stubborn. 

Josh gives him a defiant look, weak and dwindling and it disappears when Chris thrusts up into him, melts away into a look of muted pleasure, hands coming up to grab Chris' shoulders.

"Just.. f-fucking fuck me." Josh whimpers, nails digging into Chris' skin. "Or.."

It tapers off as quickly as it comes but Chris feels his heart lurch at whatever prospective bullshit Josh was about to spew out. Chris huffs, a smirk curled up on his lips and it must look strange because Josh stares at him, a bit wide eyed and confused.

Chris catches Josh's hips in his hands, dragging him back down on Chris' dick and Josh claws weakly at his shoulders, eyes screwed shut and Chris surges forward, mouth pressed hard against Josh's, who only keens and whines, eager to reciprocate.

"S-So loud, bro," Chris manages, grasping Josh's hips, keeping them still and Josh twitches around him, a visible strain in his face when he realizes Chris isn't moving.

"Come _on_ , Chris," Josh groans. 

"You asked me to fuck you," Chris replies, eyes wide and innocent and Josh looks about cross eyed in his attempts to not call Chris out on his bullshit. 

"This _isn't_ -”

"What you meant? Got someone else who can do better?" 

Josh's mouth twitches, eyes glinting with a downright dirty look and Chris pushes Josh against the steering wheel, horn loud and clear against the aching in his mind and Chris leans in, slowly thrusting up into Josh.

"Do you though? I'm not one of your fuck buddies, Josh," Chris asks and Josh's expression falls, indifference melts into insecurity, a strange and abnormal look on Josh Washington's face but Chris doesn't comment, works up into Josh as their lips brush. 

"Tell. Me. What. You. Want." Chris enunciates each word with a hard thrust, encouraging small, weak noises to tumble down from Josh's lips. 

"Come on, Chris," Josh whines, trying to coax Chris into moving a bit faster but Chris pauses, holds Josh's hips down until his best friend whimpers pathetically. "C-Chris, please. Please. Please, just fucking f-fuck _me_.”

Chris' heart flips in his chest, rewarding Josh with another bruising kiss before he shifts up, hand braced on the dashboard and Josh wraps an arm around his neck, one hand curled along Chris' chin and it's painfully intimate, Josh's body so hot, writhing and it's all for Chris, all for him. 

"Fuck, Josh," Chris breathes, kissing Josh again and again, pushing himself up further into Josh's space, arms wrapped tight around the other's thin waist and it's a moment Chris wants to drown in. 

They could do that later, afterward, if Josh gets over himself, if Chris decides to act on these newfound feelings but that was later. Josh doesn't let go when Chris starts fucking him in earnest, moaning and panting in Chris' ear as he's jostled with each hard movement and Chris tries to focus but it's hard when he keeps being swept up in how bad he just wants to keep kissing Josh.

Death. That's what this was, is; a big serving of ‘I fucking told you so’, memories coming back that all look like stolen glances and missed opportunities - unspoken thoughts and unfounded jealousy - and you'd think it would've made Josh realise how long overdue this is but it still manages to take him by surprise, completely overwhelming him.

Josh clings to Chris' shoulder, clawing desperately at his skin, his other hand clamped around the back of Chris' neck as the blond wrings breathless moans from him. And for a moment Josh is rendered dumb, thinking everything and nothing at the same time.

No, that's not true. One thought dominates all the others, bright and loud at the forefront of his mind. One that tugs at his chest, circling again and again, driven home by Chris' arms around him, by every thrust of the blond's hips.

His name.

The way Chris said it. Not bro, not dude. Not any of the other countless nicknames that litter their everyday conversations. His _name_. So strange and breathy and fucking _perfect_ , like Josh was hearing it for the first time.

For some reason, Josh can't let go of that.

Death. That's what this is, quick and painless. Of misplaced pride and needless distance maybe, Josh doesn't know for sure, but something’s gone; ebbing away with every thrust, each shuddering breath and moan, each second Chris is holding him.

“Yeah…” Josh pants, more exhale than word, eyes closed tight. “Yeah, _nnhyeah_ …”

Everything feels so tight and close gathered up in Chris' arms, like someone's turned up the volume, turned up the heat, turned up _everything_. Josh feels overpowered and overwhelmed. Vulnerable, even. But it's outweighed by the feeling of Chris around him, inside him, fucking into him again and again until Josh isn't sure he can handle it anymore; waves of pleasure joining up to form a constant sensation that leaves Josh gasping.

“Fuck, hohfuc-- Chr-- fu…” Josh’s voice is loud inside the car; sharp syllables a jumbled mess, lodging in his throat, and he wishes his voice was steadier and not such a challenge to master right now. He can barely get his words out and maybe later he'll acknowledge that nobody's ever made him this tongue-tied before, been able to make his words so garbled and urgent. But then, he's never fucked the one person he always finds himself thinking about before either. 

Josh's fingers fumble, clumsy and uncoordinated through Chris' hair, knocking his glasses loose, frames falling away, but neither of them care, too wrapped up in each other's bodies to do anything about it. Josh grabs Chris' hair, turning the blond's head to face him, and Chris doesn't hesitate to press his lips hungrily against Josh's, moaning into Josh's mouth until he's forced to pull away, working Josh hard.

Josh opens his eyes, heavy-lidded, met with the sight of the rear window, seemingly miles away. His fingers clutch more tightly at Chris' skin as his mouth falls open, harsh pants escaping him.

“Chriss…”

He isn't losing. 

He’s o-okay… this is…

... _fuck_... this is… this is _fine_ …

“Chr-- _Chris_ …”

Josh's thighs tighten against Chris' sides as increasingly urgent moans gather in Josh's throat; hands tensing, everything tensing, because Josh can feel it, a palpable change in the air, building too quickly to stave it off easily. 

Josh holds Chris hard by the nape of his neck, breath hot and loud against Chris' ear. “ _Man-nnh_ … fuck, I--”

No, this isn't losing. Josh knows that now.

“Chris, I'm guh… _Fuck-k_ , I'm gun… gonna…”

Chris nods, gripping Josh's hips tight enough to bruise and he stares into Josh's face, takes in the way Josh's face screws up, eyes falling closed and Chris doesn't want that, he wants to see it all, the way Josh looks picked apart, open and drained.

“Look at me.” Chris says, harsher than he means to but his voice is twisted and garbled, thoughts hardly moving past Josh, Josh, Josh and god damn I need to come. “Look at me.”

“Okay.. o-okay.” Josh obeys, eyes wet and red, lips trembling and so, so red. It's a struggle, to either keep his eyes open or closed, Chris isn't sure but Josh makes an effort, managing to hold Chris’ gaze as he's jostled with each sloppy thrust.

“You're shaking, bro.” Chris informs him, running his fingers along Josh's trembling thighs, squeezing and kneading the skin until it's red and Josh shudders, a high whimper escaping his throat and he grasps Chris’ forearm tightly, body clamping down hard around Chris and he comes, shaking, a low sob escaping his lips.

Chris doesn't have time to focus on the way Josh's dick tilts up just a little before it spills all over Josh's stomach, mainly because he's swearing through how Josh spasms around him, so fucking tight and warm and Chris hisses out a sharp ‘shit’.

“F-Fuuuc..” Josh throws his head back, panting loudly and Chris works Josh through it, relieved and desperate as he focuses on the wound up coil lining his belly. An easy task, if not a simple one because Chris has all his encouragement laid out in front of him, Josh stretched out against the steering wheel, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, covered in dark, dark hickies and come.

Chris is right on the edge when Josh looks at him, blissed out, dopey and quiet, eyes brimming with something warm, almost loving and Chris surges up, grips Josh's chin between his fingers and kisses him, gasping as he's tipped past his point. 

Josh sighs, kisses back, hands on Chris’ neck, his shoulder, tired and limp but he doesn't complain when Chris lazily milks himself up into him. Josh doesn't let go like Chris is expecting, just sort of cradles Chris’ face, switching between soft kisses and staring quietly into his face.

Chris guesses this is the moment they talk about it, about this and he's feeling far more sober than he did at the beginning. He doesn't want to bring it up though, simply ignores the silence and coaxes Josh's mouth open, tongue slipping easily inside and Josh closes his eyes, hands coming to rest in Chris’ hair. 

They continue like this rather than what could be considered appropriate “just sex” behavior and Chris isn't one to cling after but there's something about this moment that he doesn't want to pull away from or maybe it's just Josh.

“You gonna pull out, Cochise?” Josh asks, a bit of snark in his voice, smirk small and wobbly and Chris blinks. Josh rolls his eyes. “It's uncomfortable when I'm not as turned on, ya know.”

“I wouldn't.” Chris answers simply and Josh shoots him a fond glare, easing himself up on shaky hands. His expression shifts to brief discomfort when Chris pulls out, dick looking shriveled and weird with the condom meshing come along the latex and Josh chuckles at Chris’ pissy expression.

“Don't look so put out. At least you don't have come on you.” Josh smirks and Chris gestures to his stomach where, he does indeed, also have come on him. “Oops.”

Josh doesn't look sorry at all and Chris can't really blame him, just gingerly pulls the condom off his dick and feeds it into one of the empty beer bottles on the floor. Josh settles back down in Chris’ lap, looking a little unsure. 

Chris lightly touches Josh's hip, drawing a small circle into the skin as he watches the other think, prepared for whatever decision or conversation he might be met with. This wasn't something they could ignore separately, it was either together or not at all, which meant talking, about what happened.


	17. Chapter 17

Breath almost evened out, Josh sits there, the movie playing on outside without them. With the benefit of fresh quiet, he realises that the wipers are still going and, with an amused smile, leans back and flicks them off before sitting up again, returning to thoughtful silence. He feels pretty gross from the waist down, thighs and ass slick with sweat. Hell, the rest of him isn’t faring much better either; hair fucked, neck littered with bruises, chest and stomach a fucking mess. He wants a shower, but something tells Josh that things could definitely be worse. After all, he’s gotten his fair share of what he wants tonight already.

Without the fug of sex hanging heavily over him, Josh has sobered up a little. His head is clearer, but he’s not sure that’s necessarily a good thing. He said a lot of things in the heat of the moment that he can’t take back or undo. Not that he actually _wants_ to undo them, but it feels like he’s put himself on the spot, opening himself up to a lot of questions that he didn’t think he’d ever have to answer.

Chris seems dead set on not being the first to speak, tracing idle patterns into Josh’s skin, and Josh can feel Chris’ eyes on him. But Josh doesn’t acknowledge it yet. Instead, he leans over to the passenger seat, steadying himself on Chris’ arm, and picks up his shirt, trying not to shrink away from Chris’ gaze while he inspects the ripped collar.

“You owe me a shirt,” Josh mutters.

Chris makes an incredulous sound, brow creasing. “You’re kidding, right?”

Josh’s gaze flickers up from the ruined garment momentarily, lips curling into a wry smile. “We’ll see.”

Chris shoots him a look of faux annoyance before his face softens; that quiet, expectant expression returning. The one that makes Josh look away again.

And now comes the part that Josh is used to. The brief talk afterwards, maybe the exchanging of phone numbers. He knows how that goes, has it down to a fine art. But he can tell that’s not how it’s going to go down, not this time.

He passes people he’s fucked in the halls at school every day and it isn’t awkward, no big deal. No problem. Sometimes Josh barely even speaks to them anymore, eventually reduced to acquaintances, because it suits everyone involved better that way. But this doesn’t feel like something that can just fade into the background, ignored and unspoken. Not with Chris. Sure, Josh has wanted to fuck Chris for a long time. But, sitting here now, Josh wonders if it was actually always something more than that.

He’s not sure what to do with this. 

Josh takes a moment to run the shirt over his chest and stomach, going some way towards cleaning himself up. It’s hardly thorough, no substitute for a shower, but it’ll have to do for now. Job done, Josh leaves the shirt on his lap, affording himself a little modesty because he suspects it’s difficult to be taken seriously with your dick out.

His gaze trails to Chris’ chest, to the red marks lining Chris' shoulders made by urgently clawing hands. He wants to kiss Chris again, something tempting about that smart mouth, and for a moment Josh replays the hotly spoken words, the ones that have wormed their way under Josh’s skin. Even now, Josh still can’t quite believe Chris said them.

It would be easier for Josh to kiss him; to keep his mouth busy, to shut Chris up and ignore everything else for a little while longer. But the look Chris is giving him - quiet anticipation in his eyes and unasked questions lurking behind parted lips - suggests that’s not an option. 

Nope. Josh can’t defuse this or brush it off with a few smartass words. There’s no way around this. Not an easy one, anyway.

“Well. That was… something,” Josh says, finally.

Chris lets out a huff of laughter and smiles softly, expression bordering on self-conscious. “Something good?”

Josh bites his lip between his teeth and meets Chris’ eye, crooked smile made strangely coy by circumstance. “Fuck, man. You were there. What do _you_ think?”

Chris’ smile broadens just a touch, pleased, bolstered by Josh’s reassurance. But Josh knows that’s not what Chris meant, not really. They both know it.

It feels like it’s been a long time since they’ve had a serious conversation about anything, let alone something like this - completely unknown territory. So many of their everyday interactions can be reduced to bullshit back and forths, unimportant conversations that skirt around what goes on in Josh’s head, so it’s hard to know where to even begin.

No. Josh doesn’t know how this is supposed to go at all.

But maybe that’s okay.

The hard barrier is gone for now, but Josh still can’t quite shake the habit of thinking in the same old ways, following old patterns. Josh knows it’s better to get in there early and ask Chris some of the awkward shit before the blond gets the chance to turn the tables and ask Josh instead.

Summoning up his confidence, Josh shifts in Chris’ lap and quietly clears his throat, finally meeting Chris’ expectant gaze.

“I didn’t know you were into guys,” Josh states matter-of-factly, tone thoughtful. For a moment it seems like he might leave it at that, but somehow more words find him. “...Or am I the exception?”

The smirk is back, one eyebrow raised, but it differs from the usual. There’s a warmth to it that reaches Josh’s eyes, like it’s not at Chris’ expense this time, and there’s another question there, maybe a glimmer of something hopeful.

Chris doesn't think he's felt his heart pound this loud before in his life, not the first day he climbed that rope during gym, watched the ground get smaller and smaller with no intention of ever getting back down, not even during his first time, riddled up with mixed emotions and enough jitters to make any sophomore back out. 

Okay, so fuck, he had never done this with an actual guy before and for some reason beating it off in his closet to crudely made home videos didn't seem like a plausible excuse. Chris didn't know if Josh was his exception when it came to sleeping with other guys but he _knows_ Josh is the exception to how bad he wants this to keep going after.

Margot really didn't have shit on this and Chris can't help but thumb at the idea that she's the hottest girl in school and he didn't even bother to call her afterward, not that she called him, but the point remains is that Chris wants to call Josh.

“Cat got your tongue, Cochise?” Josh asks, huffing a bit and Chris feels like Josh can see his mind twisting itself up just to find the right way to fit all these pieces together.

“I'm not going to say anything cheesy, bro.” Chris retorts, finding his tongue along a field of garbled words and feelings.

Josh lifts an eyebrow at him. “Isn't that all you do, bro? Cheese after cheese? You're about as pasty as they get.”

Chris pinches Josh's thigh, fighting back a smile and Josh chuckles lightly, grasping Chris’ hand before he can do it again. That look is back, searching, guarded and Chris sure hopes that however this goes, it's what Josh wants. 

Although Chris is certain that he can guess but maybe it's not about him in this moment or maybe it just feels that way because right now, at this moment, with Josh in Chris’ lap, warm and marked up, the dying heat in his face slowly creeping out, in this moment, this is what Chris wants and it's what he’ll want when the moment passes.

“So Mr. Washington,” Chris clears his throat, Josh's lips twitching into a smile. “Seeing as you rate this experience a rousing one hundred out of ten, the judges are wondering if you'd be back on the panel for the next season.”

Josh's eyes narrow, smile growing wider and wider, a bit lopsided but good and he stares at Chris with a familiar annoyed expression, something fond but irritated and Chris grins.

Josh smacks his arm. “Can't believe I expected you to be serious.”

“Hey, me either, bro.” Chris agrees.

Josh laughs at that, reaching up to brush a hand through his hair, jaw softening into something warm and he stares down into the shirt in his lap like it holds his answers or possibly a translation to Chris’ stupid attempt of asking him out and Chris should probably take this more seriously but he's got to be able to brush this off if Josh says no.

“I didn't even know you felt the same way.” Josh mumbles, sounding small. “It's a bit surreal. Kind of like that feeling when you dance around with substitutions of what you want when all you needed to do was try. Although, in fairness, I give really great head and that shouldn't not be shared.”

“True facts.” Chris agrees and Josh looks up at him. “Margot Fletcher ain't got nothin’ on you.”

“Of course she doesn't.” Josh tsks, smirking a bit.

“To be frank,” Chris clears his throat, shifting up into Josh's space, arms coming to curl around Josh's waist, their faces inches apart. “I don't think Margot Fletcher can touch me either.”

Josh stares distractedly at Chris’ mouth, eyes growing dark and heavy as he reaches up to clasp Chris’ jaw. “She doesn't.”

“I don't think those other guys do either.” Chris quips, feeling a bit more bold, more sure. 

Josh shakes his head. “They don't.” He whispers.

“Then...let's do this.” Chris says. “You and me. Worst thing that could happen is I beat you at every video game imaginable and never let you win.”

“Too easy. Unless it's tekken. Then you gotta work for it, Cochise.” Josh smirks.

“Oh?” Chris presses their foreheads together, one of his hands sliding along Josh's thigh, up underneath shirt lazily draped across the other’s lap. “What else I gotta work for?”


	18. Chapter 18

A flush of warmth accompanies Chris’ teasing words and wandering fingers, faintly coloring Josh’s cheeks. Held close with barely a breath between them, Josh suppresses a shiver, but there’s no disguising the goosebumps prickling his skin; caused by a heady combination of bare skin, close proximity and the hand stroking its way along his thigh. He’s felt wanted before - in that base, purely physical sort of way - but this feels different, and with each word, Chris’ warm, enticing voice is quickly becoming one of Josh’s new favorite things.

“I’m sure I'll think of something,” Josh murmurs, running his thumb along the line of Chris' jaw, and he's met with a mischievous flicker of heat that lingers in the blue eyes looking back at him. He could easily leave it at that but, unable to stop himself, Josh's lips twitch into a soft smirk. “You can work to pay for the mess you made of my ride, to start.”

Chris gives Josh a disbelieving look, but it quickly dissolves into a soft chuckle that blossoms into an easy smile. Chris exhales and raises an eyebrow, sceptical and amused, breath warm and ticklish against Josh’s skin. “Oh _really_?”

“Joking.” Josh’s wry smile broadens, bottom lip unconsciously bitten between his teeth while he holds Chris’ gaze, the blond’s arm tightening around his waist. “Well... _half_ -joking.”

“Dude, if anyone made a mess in here it’s you.”

Josh huffs and tries to look pissy but fails, unable to keep the amusement from his face. But it doesn't last long before Josh's smile becomes something else, his gaze growing thicker and heavier with the first stirrings of fresh want as the seconds pass, prompted by Chris' nose nudging softly against his own and the thumb working persuasive circles into the flesh of his leg. In the silence that follows, their lips brush as a sure hand dips between Josh's thighs, ever so close and tempting. 

Wrapped up in the private joke, locked away from the rest of the world, Josh wants to succumb to the growing urge to kiss Chris again, to embrace his second wind and get physical because that's the easy part, always has been.

But he doesn't.

Instead, Josh stills Chris' hand and leans back just enough to open up the space between them, far enough for him to see Chris' uneasy curiosity, an unasked question on the blond’s lips.

The truth is, for all the people Josh has been with, he's never really _been_ with any of them. Not seriously, anyway. A couple of weeks at most before it inevitably petered out. That said, it’s not like he hasn’t had the opportunity. There were girls who wanted more from him, something beyond a casual thing. It just never happened.

But things have changed. Or maybe the problem is that they never did. Turning down offers was easy before and it's only now Josh realises that maybe it's because he was holding out for someone else, whether he fully knew it or not.

After years of hesitation and doubt, Josh doesn’t want any more uncertainty. Armed with Chris' clunky excuse for asking him out, safe in the knowledge that Chris for some inexplicable reason actually likes him too, the usual way Josh leaves encounters like this isn’t good enough this time. For once, Josh _wants_ to say something; to make it real and permanent. Not to spew out bullshit like usual, but to actually _say_ something.

This is... different. Very different. This isn’t something Josh wants to turn down.

“This...” Josh pauses but doesn’t elaborate, hoping Chris understands what he's referring to because fuck, Josh knows he isn't good at this. He lowers his hand to Chris' shoulder, his brow creasing thoughtfully for a moment while he tries to think of more to add, but when that fails, Josh finally settles on a soft nod. “Yeah… Yeah, okay.”

Chris' relief is palpable, face brightening when he manages to make sense of Josh's vague admission. “Yeah?”

Josh shrugs, the slight smile returning, perhaps a shade more bashful than usual. “Screw it. See what happens?”

Josh isn't sure who closes the gap, but a moment later Chris' mouth is on his. It isn't hurried or desperate, just a slow press of lips, but it still manages to make Josh's stomach flip, grip tightening on Chris' shoulder. With a soft moan, Josh slips his arm around Chris' neck, lips parting as Chris holds him closer.

It's at this moment that Josh begins to laugh, the sound trembling between them until Chris pulls away, confused and distracted.

“What?”

“You're so fucking fired. You know that, right?”

Chris almost scoffs, _almost_ if it weren't for the alarming amount of clarity that's colliding into the side of his head. The fog on the windshield seems less so and the ending credits of the movie have blanked into a strange shade of navy which Chris thinks would look good at his funeral.

Sam was going to kill him. 

Hacked up into pieces then ground up to be mixed with the brown sludge that gets slapped on top of shitty drive in nachos. Ohh, fucking fuck. Chris bites back a groan, hand already raised to his face, hoping, praying maybe, that he can find some calm in the shaking frames of his glasses.

Oh. 

That's just him.

“Geez, bro. Don't freak out.” Josh chuckles, reaching up to curl his fingers around Chris’ wrist. “It's cool. I'll be your sugar daddy.”

“For some reason that does not comfort me.” Chris mutters, sighing and Josh smirks, closing that tiny sliver of distance between them. He guides Chris’ hand away, slowly bringing it to Josh's lap, hips gently rocking and okay, yeah, Sam suddenly isn't a very real, very terrifying force of nature when your brain is mostly in your dick.

“Does this mean I get money if you ride my dick? Am I a..side hoe?”

Josh laughs at that, raspy and white and he tilts up, mouth warm and really, really inviting. “Always wanted a side piece.”

“Who's the main squeeze?” Chris asks, reaching down to grasp Josh's ass. He gives it a squeeze, kneading a bit and Josh makes a thoughtful noise, peppering Chris’ jaw with sloppy kisses.

“Don't know.” Josh hums. “Haven't decided yet.”

“Well if there's no main...how can I be a side?”

“Good question, Cochise.” Josh replies, settling in Chris’ lap. “Online applications are accepted but management prefers if you come in person.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at Josh, earning another throaty laugh. “When's the manager available?”

“Now. Would you like an interview?” Josh agrees easily, smirking at Chris’ expression when he reaches down between them, smoothing his hand along Chris’ lower belly. “Walk in only so you're in luck today, pal.”

“Straight past the assistant manager and right to the source. Nice.” 

“Sam.”

Chris shoots Josh a confused look, mind too focused on where Josh's hands are, where they could be, where they _should_ be and maybe, if he had been paying attention he would've felt that painfully familiar seething glare that's currently trying to wiggle its way into his conscious. 

To be fair, he could've easily felt it, like you feel the sun when you've been in a hot car for too long but if Chris is anything, it's not receptive and he's never been one to pay attention to anything.

“Dude.” Josh says more urgently, clamoring his way out of Chris’ lap. His head thunks against the roof with a dull noise, the shirt that was in his lap dropping comically into Chris’ and that's all how Chris would later explain this situation if someone asked.

It goes like this.

Sam is standing outside Josh's car, eyes lined black and fiery, arms folded so tight around her chest, Chris thinks she either may explode or pop a vessel. Both which are appealing considering the glare she's leveling him with, upper lip curled back to show pretty white teeth.

“Oh.” Chris says smartly. “Oh. Oh shit.”

“You have one minute to get your butts out here.” Sam snarls, it's impact dulled by the window separating them and Josh snorts out a laugh.

“She's fucking pissed and she said butts.”

Chris nudges him roughly, scrambling to grab his shirt and pull it over his head. He can't really hear anything beyond the pounding embarrassment bleeding into his conscious but Josh's laugh seems to tickle the surface, something warm and bubbly and Chris catches himself looking at Josh when he should be zipping up his jeans.

Josh is halfway into his shirt, the display of bitten up, flushed skin hidden behind a layer of cotton when he catches Chris staring, eyes going a bit wide and the corner of his mouth twitches like he's trying to find a word.

If Josh did say anything, Chris didn't hear it, in fact, he can't even hear Sam's weakly worded but horrifying threats that are being spewed at them. Chris is a bit more focused on trying to remember what Josh's mouth feels like, what it tastes like and Josh doesn't seem to mind that he's being pulled back to Chris, face lit up with amusement and he does kiss back when their mouths manage to meet.

Sam groans irritably outside and Josh chuckles warmly, reaching out to squeeze Chris’ knee.

“Guess you get the job.”

“When can I start?” Chris asks.

“Today. Right now.” Josh kisses him again.

Chris does a small fist pump. “Cool. I'll be right in. I have to quit my old job.”

“I think Sam would beat you over the head if you quit before she could fire you.”

“Would you come to my funeral?”

“Mm..maybe. Can't fuck a corpse.” 

Chris makes a face and Josh bites back another laugh, cheeks flooded with a red warmth and Chris holds onto that image the entire time Sam is threatening to plant him in a field of mushrooms.

Josh steals glimpses of Chris and his soon-to-be ex-boss while he tugs his jeans back on. Vaguely dressed, he clambers into the empty driver’s seat and adjusts it, setting it upright. The lightly tinted windows seem to somewhat dull the full extent of Sam’s anger, now aimed squarely at the blond, and Josh is glad for the meagre barrier separating him from the scene outside. Sam sounds genuinely pissed and it seems like even Chris’ flustered attempts at winning her over with humor aren’t hitting the mark this time. 

Josh wonders why Sam's back - she said something about studying, after all - but, if he's honest, he isn't that surprised. It was obvious she hadn't quite trusted Chris alone and for good reason. Looking around the mess they'd made of the car, it’s easy to see that her suspicions weren't completely unfounded.

The sound of Sam’s displeasure continues unabated as Josh looks down at his less than pristine shirt, wrinkling his nose. Ripped and stained, it’s trash-worthy for sure. With a grimace, he takes it off then leans back and fishes his jacket from the backseat, dislodging Chris’ discarded cap in the process. Pulling on the jacket, a thought crosses his mind, lips curling into a wry smile.

_Better stay out of it._

Then again…

Josh toys with the button in the armrest before committing to the idea, slowly lowering the window.

“I went out on a limb for you and--”

“Hey,” Josh says, peering out of the car, cutting Sam’s tirade short.

“ _You_ ,” Sam glares at Josh.

Josh can’t help noticing the relief that crosses Chris’ face at being out of the firing line, nor the way Sam looks set on ripping Josh in half. Trying not to dwell on the latter, Josh hands Chris his cap.

“Come on, Sammy. Give the guy a break. He did a good job.”

“ _Dude_ …” Chris hisses, and it’s only now without the darkness of the window between them Josh sees exactly how rosy Chris’ cheeks are.

But Josh ignores Chris’ warning tone, fighting back a smirk.

“It’s not his fault he got caught up servicing a customer,” Josh continues, deadpan. “Seriously, five star service. Would recommend to a friend.”

To say that Sam is unamused is an understatement, her eye twitching with barely suppressed irritation as she continues to stare daggers at Josh. Meanwhile, Chris looks torn between the urge to laugh and a very real desire to push Josh’s head back inside the car.

“Get out here, you ass,” she says finally, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

Sure, he _could_ do that - maybe give Chris a little back up - but, despite the appeal of the request, Josh elects to stay in the relative safety of the car.

“I’m…” With a tap of Josh’s finger, the window starts to rise. “Yeah… maybe not.”

Josh half-expects Sam to stomp over and rip the door from its hinges, but a moment later, Chris is back to being her number one target. Josh is tempted to drive off, if only to throw some fuel on the situation, but the beers they drank have sort of fucked him in that regard. So, sitting it out for now it is. Though, if he’s honest, that’s not the only reason Josh lingers.

His gaze settles on Chris, taking in how he looks right now: slightly dishevelled, hair mussed up, cheeks flushed with color. He looks sort of worn-down, but in a pleasant kind of way, and even fully dressed, Josh finds himself tracing the lines of Chris’ body, the memories of exactly what lies beneath still fresh.

And now, somehow, it’s all his. All of it.

It’s a strange thought. A _good_ thought.

With a contented sigh, Josh leans back in his seat and, both amused and relieved, contents himself with watching Chris get chewed out some more. Occasionally, Sam glances over, her gaze flicking to Josh, but the brunette merely raises his hands in silent protest. 

Yeah, Josh thinks he’d better wait till Sam runs out of steam. Leaving Chris behind to face the music probably isn’t the best way to start things off.

Besides, someone has to help him clean the car.


End file.
